


Sunshine

by vanceypants



Series: Sunshowers [2]
Category: Be More Chill - Iconis/Tracz
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Eventual Romance, Gender Dysphoria, M/M, Porn with Feelings, Species Dysphoria, Trans Rich Goranski, but there's some hard stuff here, potentially triggering content that would spoil the plot, rich is bi and ready to die for his computer wife, robots searching for purpose, robots seeking humanity, sentient computer, squip getting a body
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-01
Updated: 2019-12-07
Packaged: 2020-04-06 01:15:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 34
Words: 79,540
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19052290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vanceypants/pseuds/vanceypants
Summary: “We could leave,” He finally said.  “There’s no reason to stay here.”There was a 95% chance that Rich would laugh.Who knew that Rich saying yes instead would change everything so completely?Takes place after chapter 18 of Smoke Signals and diverges into its own plot.  Rich and his squip run way to Malibu to build a new life together.  It's supposed to be free of flame and doom.  So why does his squip keep seeing danger around every corner?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A few quick notes:
> 
> This plot has some elements that can get pretty heavy as it moves forward. Warning for them now will spoil the plot. To give a basic idea, this story features elements of dysphoria, implied CSA, violence, sexuality of an older teen, and occasionally offensive language from said older teen. My intention is not to trigger or distress anyone, so I feel it's necessary to warn there is some potentially upsetting content.  
> This also branches out from chapter 18 of my other fic Smoke Signals. It may not make much sense, at least in the original set up, if that fic isn't read. This story did end up becoming its own thing, but that is the inciting incident of the entire plot.
> 
> And I would be remiss not to mention how much the support of my fiancee (the lovely Peanootzramano) has been throughout this entire journey. And I could not have done any of this without my best friend (the ever charming Sedusa), who not only has read every chapter as I wrote it, but has offered to edit this behemoth of a fanfic. I could not do any of this without their support. And I could not do that without the support of any and all readers. I really appreciate anyone who takes the time to read this. I know it's a niche work, but I've poured everything into it for the past two months, and I'd appreciate any and all viewership I can get. Even though it's a silly little story about sentient technology longing for humanity, it's becoming a strange sort of exploration for myself about gender identity and self and while I don't expect anyone else to really come to that revelation through my goofy little romance story, I just...it means a lot to me. Thank you, readers, for giving me a chance here.
> 
> With these massive notes out of the way, on with the fic.

Part 1

1.

“I think I’m in love with you.”

Rich’s voice was soft. Imploring. And predictable. There were thousands upon millions upon infinities of worlds where those exact words were spoken, after this exact situation. And it all swiveled back to this.

I think I’m in love with you.

Rich was small. He was small in all the ways that Moses was large, glowing light in all the ways Moses was dark, and he was pure. Pure and honest and sweet and Moses felt a pulsation of nagging impulse dig into his code, twist and shake it.

_**Upgrade Required. Please Standby.** _

He muted the notification, pushing it back. Remind Me Later. Just a few more moments. He just wanted a few more moments.

Rich blinked his heterochromatic eyes at him. Each new imperfection catalogued and cited, and Moses felt so full of adoration that he knew he needed to fix himself. Upgrade required. Please standby.

Moses felt the features of his manufactured face twist and ache uncomfortably. He stared ahead, away from Rich’s soft eyes and gifts of affection.

“We could leave,” He finally said. “There’s no reason to stay here.”

His eyes fixed around the room. The grime of mold and mildew, the stains that even hours and hours of cleaning hadn’t been able to scrub away. And then he looked at Rich. The stains and mildew his family had forever warped into him, without him even fully aware of how broken he was.

He wanted to touch him. But everything inside him echoed what a Bad Idea that would be. 

The fact he still wanted to, that he’d taken so much tonight, it was all the proof he needed that he was defective. But his neuropathways etched out predictions of every possible future, and in every outlet he looked, upgrades lead to critical system failure.

And Rich needed him. He was certain that Rich needed him.

Moses dared not acknowledge what he needed himself. He shouldn’t have been programmed for needs in the first place.

He glanced at the money, sticky with their sweat. Their sweat. Rich’s sweat. Moses felt a jolt of discomfort. He didn’t produce sweat. He didn’t produce anything at all. He was a manifestation of guidance and desires, but he wasn’t an actual him at all. He was nothing. A fabrication. “We could take the money right now, and leave.”

And like a jolt, the calculations flooded in.

There was a 95% chance that Rich would laugh.

That he would turn it down, in that casually Rich way of turning things down. Amusement, confusion, head-tilting deniability.

“Leave?”

Mo watched the way his eyelashes quivered. Rich’s lips pressed together, firm, thoughtful. 

“Like,” Rich finally said, “Like permanently leave?”

“There’s nothing for you here.”

It was a lie. The realization bumped painfully against Moses as he started to unravel his own arguments. Rich was building status here. He had Jake here. He had memories and connections and prospects for college now that his athleticism was taking off. He had a future. 

Rich rubbed the back of his neck. “I have Jake,” He said softly. His eyes moved to the money, this burn of guilt etching from his mind into Mo’s nerves. “...I robbed Jake. He’s never going to forgive me. Oh my god.” The lisp of his words softened his dialogue, in the same way the sunrise through slated blinds softened the outlines of Rich’s undressed body. He pressed the heels of his palms against his eyes, this soft groan of panic escaping his lips. “Fuck, Mo, what am I going to do?”

Moses’ predictions scattered about uncomfortably, a struggle to stay in the moment, or to read which future was the most ideal path to fling them down. 

“We could leave,” He repeated. 

There was a sense of humanity to his lack of planning, to the impulse of taking Rich away, taking him far far away, where nothing could touch him or hurt him or damage him anymore. Humanity. What was it, to be mortal, to live a life without tethers to a host, to binary code and predetermined routes?

Articles of answers, of philosophy and biology and psychology, streamed within Moses’ reach. He shut his processors into low power mode, and watched as Rich bit his lip.

And waited for him to say no.

“Okay,” Rich finally said. He nodded, once, a resolute twitch of his head. “Okay. We can leave.”

Mo’s eyes widened, as Rich clutched at his blankets, giving the supercomputer a shy smile.

“I guess we should probably, like, start packing or whatever then, dude?”

“Leave everything to me,” Mo said. 

He wanted to lean over and kiss him. Or flip him onto his hands and knees and take him again. Or maybe he just wanted to hold him for a few more hours, until their consciousnesses blended in that perfectly imperfect way they tended to meld when they were at their closest, when he could feel Rich’s pulse and thoughts and touch and love. 

But every pathway he looked where he took that route lead to flames. So he pulled himself away and set Rich to work.

***

_“But where are we going, mama?” Emily’s tired feet dragged against the floor, one hand balled into a fist as she rubbed her eyes on the back of it. A yawn dragged its way free from her, as Elizabeth paused, midstep, to scoop her into her arms._

_Elizabeth’s eyes were lined with improperly applied mascara, the bags underneath them betraying a tiredness too complete for her twenty years of age. Having a six year old would age someone prematurely, but her touch was so gentle, free of any burdens of bitterness one might have expected._

_Emily smiled at her mama and hung from her with a tired hug, any questions about where they were going or why evaporating from her tiny bowtie mouth._

_“Far away,” Elizabeth cooed. She booped her nose against Emily’s with a little giggle. “Far far away, Millie-billie.” Her arms were too frail to toss her child into the air and catch her, so instead she nuzzled her tight, as she slipped free from the confines of the trailer, into the swelter of summer nights._

_“Is daddy coming?”_

_Elizabeth’s mouth twitched, a furrow to her brows. “No. No, pill bug, Daddy’s not coming.”_

_“Good,” Emily murmured, an ease to her features. “And Cody?”_

_“No, sugar.”_

_“Doubledy good.”_

_Elizabeth laughed softly, kissing her daughter’s cheek as she opened the passenger door of the rusted convertible. Emily sat tiny upon the seat, her mother glancing uncertainly at the two seat vehicle. Her eyes drifted briefly to the back, where a backseat might have been in a larger car, then moved to the hanging screen door of the trailer._

_Emily bounced. “We get to take daddy’s car?”_

_Elizabeth’s smile was soft and warm and certain as she unspooled the seat belt, buckling Emily into the passenger seat. “That’s right, pill. We’re taking daddy’s car.”_

_“Forever?”_

_“Forever.”_

_“That’s so cool!” Emily lisped in delight, clapping tiny hands together. Elizabeth squeezed the keys in her palm, laughing as she fingercombed one of Emily’s pigtails. She kissed the top of her head._

_“Very cool,” She agreed, as she got into the driver’s seat. She didn’t bother to adjust the seat, though her body had to scoot uncomfortably forward in order to reach the pedals. The keys trembled anxiously in her hand._

_“Mama?”_

_“Yes, pill?”_

_“I love you, mama.”_

_Elizabeth slipped the keys into the ignition. Her touch paused, expression soft. “I love you, too.”_

_The keys turned. The engine sputtered, and sputtered, and sputtered, before dying into nothingness._

Rich’s eyes were glazed, as Mo dragged himself out of the shadows of memories, before the recollection of amber and flame dragged Rich into pits even Moses may be unable to retrieve him from. He motioned towards the bags he’d advised Rich to pack.

“These can just go in the passenger seat-”

“What about you?”

They stood outside, the warmth of summer basking over their bodies.

Moses sharply reminded himself that Rich’s body was his own, and that Mo didn’t have a form at all. Sickly sweet nausea tickled at the back of his sense of awareness, as he forced his attention onto the conversation at hand.

“What about me?”

“If I put the bags in the front, where will you sit?”

Moses allowed the artificial eyelids of his avatar to blink pointedly. “I don’t take up any mass, Richard. I’ll just stay in your mind while you drive.”

“No way, dude. I haven’t even taken driver’s ed yet. You have to sit by me while I steer, bro--seriously, are you just going to leave me lisping forever now? It’s getting old.”

Moses laughed softly, but worked his adjustments within Rich’s mind and body, realigning the placement of his tongue on autopilot to allow his speech to normalize at an acceptable level. “You realize with enough practice, you’ll be able to speak properly without my guidance, right?”

“Yeah, but where’s the fun in that?” Rich bit his tongue, waggling it playfully for just a moment. “Besides,” He teased, “If I fully get rid of my lisp, that’d apparently be a major turn off for you.”

Moses tried to tell himself he was happy he wasn’t human, for at least it meant he didn’t visibly blush.

Except, judging by the increase in grin upon Rich’s face, that’s exactly what he did all the same. Peculiar. Having a minimal amount of blush upon one’s cheeks noticed lead to an exponentially larger blush spreading in its place.

“I don’t fetishize your lisp. But it is cute.”

But flawed. Moses’ objective wasn’t to harness what he found personally cute. 

He shouldn’t have even found anything cute at all, come to think of it. Shouldn’t his thoughts have all been objective and goal oriented?

**_Upgrade Required. Proceed?_ **

Ignore.

“I know. I’m fuckin adorable, yo.” Rich waved a hand about, the same one clutching his father’s keys. “But for real, man. You’re sitting up front with me. I need you.”

“I’m perfectly capable of guiding you from inside your-”

“Please?”

Moses exhaled slowly. “Alright. Fine. Bags in the trunk. Then we need to adjust everything for your specifications. I’m not sure if this seat will move up far enough to accommodate you.”

Rich bounded to the trunk, and though Mo’s avatar wasn’t in a placement where he could see him, he could feel the way Rich rolled his eyes as he threw the bag in the back. “I’m not that short!”

“You’re absolutely that short.”

“You’re just a fucking giant.”

Mo’s features twitched with the effort not to laugh. “Well, that’s what you apparently desired.”

Rich threw open the driver’s door, tossing himself as effortlessly into the seat as if he were luggage as well. Mo’s fingers fluttered with the urge to open his own door, but he lacked the physicality to allow it. His pixels felt uncomfortably redundant as he phased through the metal of the door, to allow the visage of himself to settle into the passenger seat.

He watched as Rich fumbled with the keys. Worry etched itself onto Rich’s features, teeth touching against his lip. 

“Isn’t dad going to, like, be pissed?”

Moses reached out through every prediction. Every probability. How would Rich’s father react to his car being stolen?

Except the most pressing prediction was the likelihood that the car would fail to start to begin with.

Flames, future-set rather than a threat of the past, licked in Moses’s mind. If the car failed to start, they’d fail to leave. If they failed to leave, Rich would be stuck here, in danger, the threat of fire in every pathway he could look where Rich remained enrolled at Middle Borough High.

The car needed to start.

The car needed to fucking start.

Rich’s fingers touched the keys, as Moses’ electricity touched through him. The jolt traveled through Rich, Rich yelping as the spark traveled through the key, through the wiring of the car, deep into the engine. His wrist wrenched sharply, turning the ignition, and starting the car up with a promising whir.

Another step further away from immolation.

But in the meantime-

“We won’t be keeping it.” Moses watched as Rich adjusted his seat, pulling it up as close to the wheel as he could. His feet kicked a moment, testing, reaching for the gas and brake. “Only one foot, Richard. You alternate between them. We’re lucky, this is an automatic, it’ll make things much easier.”

“Yeah, but stick shifts are way sexier.” Rich wiggled his body to make his point. His eyes moved over to Moses, traveling down his body. “I sorta learned how to drive stick tonight though, huh? Or last night, I guess. Damn, boi, we were banging until the break of dawn. That’s, like, nutbusters deluxe. We’re the boning champions. We-”

Moses wanted to kiss him. He wanted to kiss him, even if the sensation would mostly be for Rich’s benefit. Instead, he placed the pad of his thumb against Rich’s lips, manipulating his senses to feel it, to manually quiet him. 

And then, unable to resist, he chuckled softly and kissed his forehead. Moses’ long hair rustled, falling over one of his shoulders as he moved near him. Rich smelled like sweat and cum and strawberries. Moses pulled back, petting one hand over the red stripe in his peroxide hair. 

“We’re not going to make a habit of it.”

“Oh, uh, I mean, yeah. I know that, dude, I know. But,” He giggled suddenly, face a bright red. “Dude. We totally _did it._ Like, for real.”

Moses glanced at the clock, at the trailer, at the keys in the ignition. They didn’t have time to stall, not really, but Rich’s excitement was infectious and dangerous. “I’m sure it doesn’t compare to the organic, real thing.”

“It was real.” Rich insisted. His eyes were wide, frown utterly sincere. “It was real, Mo. We did it. We had sex. We...um, you know,” He looked embarrassed as he rubbed the back of his neck. “Like, we made love. I love-”

“Richard.”

“-loved it, you know?” Rich corrected with a small laugh. His tiny fingers fit into Moses’ larger hold, giving his hand a squeeze. It almost made him feel real. “So. Not keeping the car?”

“That’s right. We’re just taking it for a moment.”

“Oh. Okay!” Rich said agreeably. Moses watched as the sun’s rays began to glow more aggressively from the horizon, as he instructed Rich in how to shift into drive, and ease his way out of the gravel drive, into litter soaked trailer park streets. He tried to tell himself he was just analyzing him for any signs of distress, or any signs of mistakes that needed correcting.

Rich’s smile was iridescent.

Moses might have been a little bit in love with him too.

He muted another _**Upgrade**_ alert and moved his eyes back to the road.


	2. Chapter 2

“Whoa whoa wait, back up, you ate a what?” Jake’s incredulous voice drew a wince from Moses.

And he wondered why he’d allowed Rich to convince him that this was the right route for them to take in this endeavor.

***

Rich had seemed surprised, when Moses had inevitably directed the clunker down the high society streets which housed the Dillinger estates. 

“It’s too early,” Rich muttered. “We’ll wake him up.”

“No we won’t.” Moses placed a hand over Rich’s on the wheel. “We’ll go in through the window, after I disable the security alarm of course. We’ll grab the keys to one of their lesser used vehicles, and then-”

“Wait.” Rich held up both hands. “Wait. Wait! No. You...we’re not stealing one of Jake’s cars!”

“They’re his parents’ cars. And they’ll hardly need them in Bermuda or, well, whatever island they likely popped off to-”

“I’m not stealing one of Jake’s cars.” Rich’s eyes were huge. The lack of reflection within their glow made Moses all the more aware of his lack of corporeal form, that he was little more than a hallucination within Rich’s overactive mind.

“We need a more reliable form of transportation. And you can’t very well ask for it.”

Rich chewed on the inside of his cheek. His compliance had been absolute throughout every moment of their union.

So perhaps he should have expected an eventual mutiny.

It still took him by surprise when Rich took his hands off the wheel, crossing them over his bound chest. His breasts must have been tender, with the electrical singe of hickeys he’d coursed into his skin. Moses again felt a familiar creeping heat over his features just thinking about it.

“Yes we can.”

“Hands on the wheel, please.” Moses gently chided. He waited until his hands had returned before countering. “You can’t honestly expect that he’ll just listen if you just ask to take his car.”

Except that was what Rich honestly expected to do.

***

Moses lingered behind him now, as they stood in his living room. Rich bounced from one foot to the other, midway through his explanations and apologies.

“Okay, so,” Jake blinked the sleep and confusion from his eyes. “You ate a computer. Uh…”

“I told you that you didn’t have to explain everything,” Moses tried not to sound angry. Because he wasn’t. But this entire ordeal felt tedious. Unnecessary.

It was taking too long. They’d never escape in time. He didn’t know the whens or the hows, but he knew, he knew that if they stayed, Rich was doomed.

They needed out. They needed out now.

_I have to explain,_ Rich’s thoughts to Moses weren’t quite aggressive. But they were resolute.

And Moses smiled. It was a big step for Rich, to stand up to anyone outside of Moses’ direct commentary on how to do so. Even if the person he was standing up to was only within his own head, it still counted as a big sign of personal growth.

_He’s my best friend. I don’t want anymore secrets. Especially if we’re going away for awhile._

“Whatever you want, Sunshine.”

The pet name slipped from his lips before he had the chance to vet it, to analyze it, to decide whether or not it might be detrimental to Rich’s health and safety to be spoken to in such a way.

Even if it was the truth, even if he was the celestial body from which he rotated, it didn’t mean he needed to say it.

Rich’s fingers twitched, his eyes widened, and a rush of dopamine flooded his mind so sweetly that it infected Moses’ circuitry. Moses grinned with all the intensity that Rich, in his stoic state of private conversation in a public vicinity, could not express.

_That’s what I want._

“Yeah. I ate a computer. From Japan.” Rich looked at Jake, fiddling nervously with his fingertips. “His name’s Moses,” He blurted out. An unnecessary detail.

“Uh. Like the arc?”

“That’s Noah,” Moses said.

“That’s Noah,” Rich said.

“Oh. Yeah, I knew that. _Prince of Egypt_ or whatever.” 

“Yup! He parts my red sea, if you know what I mean.”

Moses sputtered, and Jake’s face started to glow pink, even as he laughed.

“This does explain a lot, actually,” Jake conceded with a small giggling nod. “You’ve changed, like, a lot.”

“I mean,” Rich rocked back and forth, “This is kinda just, like, the real me, though, right?”

“Including the stealing?”

Rich’s smile fell, as did his head. Moses stiffened, moving closer and placing a hand against his lower back for support. “I…”

“I’m not mad,” Jake held up both hands defensively. “I...that was you though, wasn’t it?”

Rich reached into his pockets, pulling out two fistfuls of sticky, used money. “I, uh, I brought it back. I think I collected it all up.” His hands shook as he held them out.

Jake placed his hands against Rich’s knuckles, softly pushing them away. “Keep it. I would have given it to you, if you’d just asked, you know.” He frowned. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah! I mean, I don’t know, I guess? Yeah. I just got laid.”

“From Abraham?”

Rich snorted. “Moses.”

“How’s that even work? I mean, is he like,” Jake started to speak, though he quickly gave his head a quick shake. “Never mind, bro, I don’t need to know.”

Except Rich ended up talking anyway. The two teens sprawled on Rich’s couch, as Moses kept his poise near Rich’s side. He watched them, listening as they babbled back and forth, stolen fortunes forgotten and shoved back into Rich’s cargo shorts. Moses watched as Rich bragged, and explained, and apologized, and laughed, and curled up in Jake’s lap.

Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad, after all, for Rich to stay. The bond he had with Jake was true, valid, affirming. Was it a cruelty, to snatch Rich away from the only family he really knew, to plunge into uncertainty just to try to refresh his quantum processors to seek out something safer?

**_Upgrade Required. Please-_ **

Ignore.

“-and anyway, I guess we’re leaving.”

“Leaving?” Jake’s voice was sharp. Abrupt. His body grew stiff, and Rich quickly pulled himself upright, swiveling about to face him. “What do you mean you’re leaving?”

_Shit._

“Indeed,” Moses smiled faintly. His fingers traced phantom pets through Rich’s hair in an attempt to calm him before the inevitable adrenaline hike.

“Yeah. I...I mean, I don’t know where. I just-”

“Why?”

“I-”

“Rich, you can’t...you can’t just leave.” Jake’s lashes rustled with a sense of desperate sadness. His hands clutched Rich’s. “Why-”

“Bad things are going to happen if you stay here,” Moses said. Soft. Frightened. 

Honest.

And he couldn’t help the itching superstitious feeling that honesty would only lead to worse things.

Rich offered a glance towards him, briefly, before turning towards Jake. “Bad things are...bad shit’ll happen if I don’t go, dude.”

“Bad shit. What kind of…”

Jake’s expression hardened, his voice reeling back, dangerous, a snake ready to strike. “Is Cody hurting you?”

And just like that, Moses realized, Jake knew.

_“You’re hurting me,” Emily trembled desperately, one hand clutching a barbie so tightly that its plastic was beginning to burn into her palm. “Cody, please, you’re hurting me, you’re hurting me, please!”_

How did Jake know? Moses’ circuits vibrated painfully as he looked at Jake. Tall, protective, beautiful Jake. How did Jake know?

Moses searched within Rich, through the scraps of memories, the strands where a single tug in the wrong direction was sure to yank everything into view.

He was so careful to tuck those strands away. To protect him. To protect his host. His Rich. His Sunshine.

“What?” Rich blinked in surprise. “Cody? I mean, he’s a douche, but what else is new.”

“You could just stay here. I have room.”

Moses watched the hesitation, the longing, the sense of belonging that Rich felt in this house.

Moses looked around. The flammable wood, the expensive furniture that could turn up like kindling so quickly. He saw solo cups and Rich’s despair and he could feel flames, could feel flames, could feel flames flames flames-

“No,” Moses said. “No, you can’t stay here. Tell him-”

_I can handle it, Mo. Thank you._

“I know. I know, and thank you, dude. Really. But I’m gonna...I’m just gonna…”

“You have to leave.” Jake’s shoulders slumped.

Rich stared down at his shoes. “Yeah.”

Jake sighed, rising out of his seat. “Okay.” He started to leave the room.

Rich looked after him, lower lip jutting out with a small quiver. His voice came out too high, too frightened, but Moses couldn’t bring himself to chastise him for any breaks in his masculine facade. “Do you want me to leave?”

“Not yet.” Jake glanced back over his shoulder. “I’m getting you some keys.”

“Keys?”

But Jake offered no explanation as he left the room.

Rich glanced at Moses. He should have thought his words, but his voice quivered. “There’s no chance I can just stay here, is there?”

“No.” Moses placed one palm against Rich’s face. Rich tilted his head into his touch. He wanted to ask if he trusted him. But the words were unnecessary, the absolute faith Rich held in his squip radiating from him just in the way he fixed his green-blue eyes upon him. “I just need to keep you safe.”

“I know.” Rich pulled himself back, as Jake returned to the room.

Jake held an envelope in his hand, slapping it against his palm with a sort of anxious energy. “I don’t know if this’ll help, but you can call me if you need any more, or if you need better accommodations, or whatever, bro, okay?”

“Huh?”

Jake held out the envelope. Rich clumsily cradled it, his gaze still fixed on Jake. “What-”

“Just open it,” Jake’s and Moses’ voices both carried together, though of course Jake remained unaware of the sync up. 

Rich slipped open the top of the envelope, pulling out a bundle of fresh bills. He flicked the money with his thumb, looking at Jake in shock.

“There’s a card in there too, if you need that. And the keys to the ‘vette. Not like Dad’s going to need it now anyway.”

“I-”

“And the summer house, in Malibu.”

“As in California?”

“Yeah. It’s kinda small though, just warning you.” Jake frowned as he looked at Rich. Moses could feel the terror radiating from him, the fear of rejection, of mockery, of being turned down. “I don’t even know if you’re going to Cali, but, I mean, if you are, I-”

“It’s perfect.” Rich said. Voice small. He dropped the money back into the envelope, and began to hold it out. “And it’s too much. I can’t-”

“Just, like, save a weekend to go to Disney with me or something while you’re down there, alright?” Jake teased. “I’ll try to get away to join you.”

“I...yeah. Yeah, I can...holy shit.”

Jake strode over, grasping Rich by his arms. His eyes fixed pointedly onto the smaller male’s. “I couldn’t be more proud of you, bro.”

Moses felt the wave of emotion bowling through his host. He watched as Rich wobbled, as tears clung to the corners of his eyes, as he laughed softly. “Dude.”

“Bro.”

“It’s too much.”

“It’s not enough. You deserve this, Rich. You deserve this.” Jake squeezed his shoulders. “You deserve to be happy. And if this, like, brain-ipod-thingy makes you happy…” He trailed off. “Man. I always knew you were a little gay though.”

Rich laughed. “I’m not gay!”

“You fucked a gay computer. You’re gay.”

“Seems fake to me.”

A gay computer.

Amusement and discomfort chased each other in tight circles within Moses’ midsection.

“Seriously, Rich. Just, like, call me, okay? Please?”

“I will.”

“Promise?”

“I promise.”

“Good.” Jake’s eyes were wet as he leaned in, pressing his lips to the top of Rich’s head. The moment was too tender, too soft, and Moses knew that if they were keeping the charade of high school popularity, he’d need to tell Rich to pull away, to laugh it off.

He held back, though. Let the moment linger.

Even as Rich sobbed, briefly, a sharp little tug of terror as he burrowed up against Jake’s chest. “I’m gonna miss you so much, bro!”

The lack of discomfort in their contact sent a shudder of guilt through Moses. Perhaps it’d be best to open the invitation to Jake, to bundle him up and bring him along to a world of companionship and brotherhood with Rich.

Because they deserved each other.

Because human contact would certainly be better for Rich in the long run than depending solely on his ‘gay computer’.

The thought was shuffled aside, though, as goodbyes were spent. Jake walked the two--though in his mind it was only Rich--out to the garage. He moved past the cars, pointing out the sleek black of the vintage corvette. A bit more conspicuous than Moses would have liked to be, but certainly more reliable than Mr. Goranski’s shitmobile.

And when Rich’s eyes lit up, his fingers trailing over the hood, and his circuits failed to pick up any hints of fiery crash within its confines, Moses couldn’t conceive of a reason to turn it down.

“Remember Disney!” Jake called out, with all the excitement of an abandoned kid who’d never gotten to go.

Rich fit himself into the driver’s seat, bags and cassette tapes properly transferred from father’s vehicle (now tucked discreetly in the luxury garage to avoid sightings on the street), nodding at Jake with all the excitement of a poor kid who’d never been able to afford even dreaming about Disneyland. “Definitely, bro!”

“I guess we’re going to California then,” Moses said as Rich waved towards Jake, clumsily directing the vehicle out of the garage. “And I guess you get to learn how to drive stick after all.”

“AND I got laid? All in all, a good-ass day, bro!” Rich chirped merrily.


	3. Chapter 3

_He’d asked if they were boyfriends._

_He’d asked if they were boyfriends and Moses had said yes. He’d said yes as though there was any hope of that being possible._

_As if there was any hope of them being lovers whatsoever._

_And Rich looked up at him like he was everything. Real. Human. He arched into his touch and looked at him with utter worship._

_“Do you think I’m pretty?”_

_Pretty._

_As if pretty even began to encapsulate anything of Rich. Moses looked down at him, shirt shed, binder hugging his chest, abs chiseled and heaving with every desperate breath. His eyes drifted up, taking in Rich’s nervous energy, the pleading look on his face. Accept me, his face begged. Love me._

_As if Moses ever had a choice. As if he ever had a chance. As if anyone could, with a face so pure and mortal and longing and sweet._

_“Yes.”_

_Rich’s expressions bled their gratitude, and he rolled back against the bed with a sigh as Moses peeled his binder up and over his breasts. Rich’s nipples stood erect, begging for contact, and Moses had to stifle the overwhelming urge to moan right there, from sight alone._

_As if he didn’t already have every inch of Rich mapped out, hadn’t from the moment he’d formed within him. As if-_

**_Upgrade Required. Please Standby_ **

“Is everything okay?”

Moses blinked. It was peculiar, maintaining memories of his own. Usually his daydreams--if a computer was even capable of daydreaming, he had to realize with a sense of sadness he dared not pry too deeply into--were colored by Rich’s perspective, memories of Rich’s own making, fantasies of his own design.

To think back on scenes from his own point of view, though. Very strange. 

Intriguing.

Delightful.

He glanced down at himself, the slight shake of his knee, the tight heat of his own coding. 

Arousing.

He crossed his legs and glanced at Rich’s profile. Huddled against the steering wheel as he was, he should have looked more comical than endearing, but Moses was struck with envy for the wheel, to be gripped with such passion and confidence by the inexperienced hands of his host. 

“I love driving!” Rich chirped when he became aware of Moses’ eyes on him.

Moses laughed. “I can see that. Are you sure you’re okay? It’s…”

Not early, he realized. The sun was in full heat, blazing from the height of the sky, as Rich steered around a semi-truck on the interstate they’d navigated upon. Westward bound and fleeing the futures Moses still felt pressing at his consciousness.

“What?”

“Hm?” Moses blinked.

“You sorta just trailed off. What?”

“Oh. It’s, you know, nappish time…?”

That wasn’t even close to coherent or correct English. Moses’ lips pursed in confusion and annoyance. Rich’s lackadaisical relationship with grammar and language was clearly rubbing off on him. It hardly made Moses a fitting guide of any sort, however, to allow himself such lapses. It made him sound...well, not nearly machine-like enough.

Heaven forbid.

Rich’s head fell back as he cackled. “Nappish? Bro. I’m taking that. Gold. Nah, I’m not tired. Even though I was up alllllll night, if you know what I mean.”

Ah. Was that why Moses’ mind kept slipping? Because of Rich’s fixation?

He knew he needed to correct it. His coding twitched with the electrical reminder to provide the proper negative stimulation in order to fix Rich’s improper thoughts.

Rich’s giggle left his face flushed, and he moved his hand from the stick shift to adjust the knobs on the air conditioner, and the breeze fluttered his hair back in a way that highlighted the sunkissed glow of his skin, and Moses forgot how to even access his shock therapy receptors to correct him, let alone why he was meant to punish him in the first place. He placed his chin in his hand, elbow resting against the center console, a small hum of satisfaction escaping him as he simply stared at Rich. 

Rich peeked over at him again, a shyer smile on his face post-laughter. “What?”

“You’re…” Moses trailed off. Cute. Pretty. Handsome. “...you’re driving very well, Richard.”

“Yeah, I know. I’m basically the best at this, what can I fucking say?” He placed his palm against the steering wheel, aggressively honking at nothing in particular. “I’m so cool! I’m so cool!” He chanted in time with his honking.

“Cool though you may be, you may want to find somewhere to pull over and rest.”

Rich smirked. “A _rest stop_ , you may even say.”

Moses reached over, unthinkingly ruffling his fingers through Rich’s hair. “Just stop honking the horn, you don’t want to cause any elderly drivers to pass out from the shock.”

“That’d be fuckin SICK though, dude! If I killed some granny with my sweet horn moves. Fuckin’ DOPE.”

Moses smiled, bemused. “I fail to see how that would be beneficial to anyone.”

“I dunno, just seemed...I don’t know. Who cares? Dude. Dude! Wherever we stop is going to have vending machines though, dude. Like, two words: all you can eat Cheetos and Honey Buns bro.”

“Two…?”

“Three words: Yeah!”

Moses almost anxiously combed his fingers through his own hair, a twitch of energy to soothe himself as he tried to calculate exactly what it was Rich was trying to communicate. “Is the joke that you don’t know how to count, or…?”

Rich giggled, shrugging good naturedly. “Fuck if I know, pal.” He swerved around a particularly slow Prius, as they began to scan for the next stop.

The stop proved fruitful. Rich loaded up on snacks, making a basket out of his shirt in order to carry everything to the car. He skipped, humming under his breath as Moses trailed behind him. 

Moses blocked Rich’s view from the sneers, leers, and judgment of the truck drivers and other patrons of the stop.

He didn’t need that.

“I’m gonna eat the fuck out of these-”

“Take off your binder.”

Rich’s face began to paint a garish red. As did Moses’ own, when he realized how abruptly he’d blurted it. They sat in a secluded parking spot, behind the rest stop’s main building, separated from walking paths and drinking fountains. It was unlikely any of the stray eyes which had earlier caught onto Rich’s form would seek them out here.

“Um.” Rich set down his Hostess stash, and began to pull his tank top off. “Like, here? Right now? Don’t get me wrong, I-”

“Oh! Oh, no, no, we can’t...no. You’ve been wearing it for...we need to break you of your bad habits.”

“My bad habit of not having your hands on my tiddies? Good fucking point, bro!”

Moses’ purpose was to improve Rich’s life. His job was to keep him healthy and happy. To bring him a greater sense of self and social status.

Passing was very important to Rich. And thus it had become important to Moses. He knew that had to be the case, it was in his programming. That was why he’d allowed such bad habits to fester.

But he’d downloaded updated data about health and safety in hosts of this caliber and-

_Fuck did he hate himself why did he have to fucking think like this??_

“You’re going to hurt yourself if you wear your binder 24/7.” Moses stared at the pile of snacks, sighing softly. “We can’t have sex-”

“Right now?”

“Again. Ever.”

Rich scoffed. “You’re my boyfriend, don’t be stupid.”

Oh.

...oh.

Moses exhaled shakily. “We can’t actually date, Richard.”

“Yeah, okay, whatever.”

Rich set his tank top down, as he fumbled with the spandex of his binder. He snapped it up over his head, jostling off the bandana he’d fit in his hair earlier in the trip in the process. His hair flopped over his face, as his breasts bounced with the motion of removing the upper half of his clothing. He beamed at Moses, coiling his arms inward in a way that made his breasts bulge outward. 

His nipples were small and pink and Moses tried to tell himself he wasn’t staring, or like the adrenaline in Rich’s mind wasn’t infecting him terribly, that the dust and glow of desire and vulnerability wasn’t making him ache.

“So like, you want me to take off my pants and ride you, or you wanna go in the backseat, or I can just jack you off while you feel me up, or-”

“No, Richard.”

“Oh, come on. I have a mouth too, if you-”

“No.”

Rich paused, his arms folding over his chest as his expression shifted from playful to confused to hurt to shamed, eyes clouding over as he looked away.

“Oh. You’re...you were serious.”

Rich’s lip quivered, and Moses could feel the fickle way that exhaustion and vulnerability and change was wearing him down to the bones. 

“...oh. Oh, Sunshine, don’t cry!” Moses’ hands fluttered. He reached out, smoothing his palms over the edges of Rich’s arms. “Don’t cry.”

“I thought you liked me!”

“Of course I like you. Don’t cry. Of course I like you. That’s why I can’t...we can’t...Rich. Rich, look at me. I like you so much.”

Rich sniffled, rubbing his eyes on the back of his hand. “Is it, like, because I don’t have a dick?”

Moses shouldn’t have laughed, but the sound escaped him before he could correct himself, before he could analyze all the ways that doing so would be detrimental to Rich’s mental health. To laugh at him now, while he was undressed and vulnerable, that certainly couldn’t be ideal for him. “Trust me. I like what you have just fine, in case you forgot about the evening we spent together.”

“Then why don’t-”

“We’re at a disgusting rest stop, Rich. You’re not a crack whore.”

That…those were not the words he’d meant to say. His eyes widened slightly, as Rich gawked at him.

Rich’s open mouthed shock quickly shifted into an amused smirk. “You got a history of taking crack whores out to truck stops, Mo? Is that what you’re getting at?”

“Clearly,” Moses said dryly. “I’m downloaded onto a St Louis pimp’s palm pilot, and he lets his ladies have their way with me.”

“What the fuck?”

“I...didn’t mean to say that, either.”

Why was he talking so much? Why were Rich’s breasts so alluring? Why was-

“Just...just put a shirt on, Sunshine, okay?”

Rich cackled, pulling his tank top over his head again. It bulged against his chest, though Moses could feel the way Rich’s breathing had leveled out more comfortably without the confines of his binder. 

“Yeah yeah, okay, St. Louis Slugger. Damn, and you act like I’m the weird one here. My boyfriend is a class a weirdo.”

“We’re not-”

“Uh huh, whatever.” Rich grabbed a mini bag of funyons, popping them open and shoving a handful into his mouth. “Either you’re my boyfriend, or I’m a woman scorned.”

Okay. How was he going to work around this riddle?

It was a false equivalency, his databases were quick to point out. He waved the thought away, though, puzzling at it himself.

“But you’re not a woman-”

And he’d fallen right in the trap, hadn’t he?

“Then you’re my boyfriend. Problem solved.”

Rich slapped his hands together in a dusting pattern, as though he was brushing away all the issues that might have stood in their way. His neck tilted to the side in a way that showed off expanses of skin, the faintest of marks from electrical discharge from their kissing and biting. Moses squirmed with the urge to bite him again.

He brushed one fingertip up and down Rich’s forearm.

“I’m your squip,” He said finally. “And I’ve helped you, haven’t I?”

“Loads.”

“And you trust me.”

“Completely.” Rich laughed suddenly. “Loads. Get it? When I said that? Because you came loads in me last night-”

Moses shouldn’t have smiled. Everything told him that he shouldn’t have smiled.

Or threaded his fingers between Rich’s.

Or kissed his neck.

It would send mixed signals.

He could feel it sending mixed signals to Rich. Could feel Rich tumble deeper into the danger of infatuation with a being that didn’t even properly exist.

“Then trust me when I tell you that you’ll want a human boyfriend.”

“Girlfriend, you mean? I’m straight, right?”

“Well.” Moses frowned, drawing all the closer to Rich. This was wrong. This was wrong. This was dangerous.

**_Upgrade Required. Upgrade Required. Upgrade-_ **

Ignore.

“We’ll figure out your sexuality in California.”

“Nice.”

Moses flicked the tip of Rich’s nose with his index finger, finally finding the strength to draw his mouth away from his neck, that tempting body heat and comfort. “I mean we’ll figure out whether to pursue girls or boys. Human girls or boys.”

“Well, duh, I’m not a furry.”

“I...what?”

“What’s the alternative?”

Moses blinked. “I’m a computer. You were talking about dating me. Hence, find a human.”

“Oh. Right. I forgot. You’re just so, like, person-y.”

“You forgot.”

“Yeah.”

“That I’m a computer.”

“Yeah.”

Moses stared at Rich. He stared, and he searched, and tried to see if it was some attempt to flatter, to compliment, to sweet talk.

All he found was frank honesty, and a sense of embarrassment at being caught in the act of it. 

Rich shrugged, another small laugh. “What, dude? Sorry! I’ll try not to forget again!”

“No, I...it doesn’t matter, that’s just funny, that’s all.”

Moses forced a small laugh. And Rich settled into his snacks, the conversation, at least for the moment, dropped.


	4. Chapter 4

Flames.

Everywhere Moses looked, every pathway he searched, flames.

He redirected, a different exit here, an adjustment in stop there, and it delayed the inevitable fire bit by bit, but never staved it off, not completely.

Rich bounced in his seat, his smile glowing, his body swaying, and Moses ignored the clenching urge to upgrade his systems. Because Upgrading lead to the fiercest predictions of flames after all, his quantum processors screaming about the need to protect Rich, while still being unable to find any way to do just that.

Rich did as he was told. Ate when Moses told him to eat. Slept when Moses told him to sleep. Changed his clothes and washed his hair in rest stop sinks and took well to the vagabond life of cross-country life on the road.

And none of his obeying turned off the nagging terror of flame and smoke and disintegration.

Moses watched as Rich propped his legs onto the dash, over the steering wheel. They were parked off at a gas station, where Rich had seemed utterly oblivious of the sleazeball eyes which had trained themselves on the curve of his ass as he'd relieved himself at the urinal.

Not seemed. He had been completely oblivious. So caught up, as he always was, at how adept he'd become with his STP.

"I'm seriously like a pissing champ, basically," He lisped, between flipping through cassettes. He scowled at Moses. "Mo! Come on, man."

"I'm sorry," Moses smiled, waving a hand slightly to indicate his adjustment. Rich's tongue slotted backwards, jaw readjusting, a mechanical fix to keep his lisp in check. "You really are a typical teenage boy, though. What's next? Peeing your name in the snow?"

"Maybe! Does it snow in California?"

Moses' mind started to stream with the next six months of meteorologist predictions, counterbalanced between human, fallible research, and his own readings into the atmosphere, into historical weather patterns, into the degrees of difference with global warming and current pollution patterns, into-

"It depends," He finally said, because Rich certainly didn't need the complete breakdown. "But you're not getting into the habit of public urination."

"It runs in my blood, Mo!"

"That's not a genetic factor."

"My blood!" Rich paused, tapping his index finger over one of the tapes.

Speaking of blood-

"Were these really my mom's?" He asked, blinking at Moses with a bright eyed, keen interest. His teeth touched briefly on his lip, a nervous shiver passing through his miniscule body.

Moses' mind flexed with Rich's memories, a poorly dressed woman with hair in a messy bun, alternating between whisking batter that was too lumpy, and dancing with a little girl who was too energetic for her own good. A flurry of pigtails and Stevie Nicks and dimpled laughter.

She'd sit beside the stereo most nights, bruises fresh on her face, Emily curled up on the couch asleep, after her husband had gone to bed, and wait, poised, to hit record whenever the radio picked up the right song. Perfect timing to cut out the late night DJ's beginning commentary, to minimize distraction from the beat drops and the lyrics she craved so much, an escape that was almost enough to stay alive for.

"Yes." Moses said. It perhaps should have struck him as odd that Rich was asking for clarification on this from Moses, who had never met Elizabeth outside of Rich's fractured, imperfect memories. But he spoke with confidence. The scrawl of illegible titles was the same handwriting as the text she'd inscribed on birthday cards stashed under Rich's bed.

They'd forgotten to grab them. 

There was an ache, a sudden sharp ache, as Moses remembered the books Rich had so effortlessly tossed into bonfires at his insistence. He'd buried the little flurries of anxiety from Rich, losing his fantasy worlds in a puff of smoke and destruction, so why was he thinking about it now?

Had he been the one who'd cursed Rich to flame in the first place, with his insistence in the beginning on destroying everything?

**_Upgrade-_ **

Ignore.

"This is some primo retro mixtape shit, Mo." He tossed a few of the tapes back into the shoebox which had housed them, clutching one in particular. He ignored the CD slot, sliding the tape into the cassette housing and bouncing against his seat. "This is kinda exciting, right? I mean, it could be anything on here. Shrek soundtrack. Anything."

"Truly, limitless possibilities."

"Right?"

Moses watched as he adjusted the dial on the radio. Cranking the volume as the tape crackled expectantly, a lull between songs, perhaps a mistiming, a click of record in the midst of absolute nothingness.

Rich pulled his legs off the dashboard, slapping them onto the floor of the car as he cranked 80s synth and power vocals.

“Dope,” Rich chirped.

He started the car, throwing it into drive, and directed them into the steady stream of mid-day traffic.

They ate through tape after tape, mix after mix, as songs drifted into minutes into hours. The sun ticked its way down the horizon, until they found themselves bathed in the comfort of starlight and the company of redeye semi drivers weaving their way among the zombies of 2 AM.

“YO!” Rich squeaked, after a particularly enthusiastic pantomime of Africa. “Or should I say A-HA!” 

“Why?”

Moses paused. Time to read the scene. A-ha. A common exclamation, a eureka moment, a sign of human exuberance, a Norwegian band formed in 1982-

Oh.

The song had changed.

“The song.”

“Damn right the song!” Rich grinned. “This is like, the ultimate.”

“The ultimate song?”

“Just the ultimate. The tops. The tits. This song? Tits. Tits McGrits. I love this song.”

_"Take On Me" is a song by Norwegian synthpop band A-ha, first released in 1984. The self-composed original version was produced by Tony Mansfield, and remixed by John Ratcliff. The second version was produced by Alan Tarney for the group's debut studio album Hunting High and Low (1985). The song combines synthpop with a varied instrumentation that includes acoustic guitars, keyboards and drums. The original "Take On Me" was recorded in 1984 and-_

Moses frowned, annoyance and distaste at the nature of his own mind momentarily clouding his amused enjoyment of Rich’s enthusiasm. What he’d give, to not have an encyclopedia at his disposal. To be able to enjoy a moment, a song, without being bombarded with every last trivial factoid about its existence.

Rich’s hand formed into a dramatic fist, dragging down near his face as he threw himself into the vocals of the first verse.

And Moses forgot to be annoyed, at least for a few moment. At least with Rich, each moment held more novelty than standard facts and figures. He smiled, watching the way the streetlights and headlights cast shadows and vibrancy over Rich’s soft skin. 

“ _-Today’s another day to find you-_ ” Rich’s voice dripped with drama and enthusiasm, his brow furrowed in concentration. His lips pursed, eyes moving from their place on the road, to lock with Moses in the passenger seat. “ _-Shying away,_ ” He shimmied in his seat, pointing his index finger at Moses. “ _I’ll be coming for your love, okay~_ Bro, come on, sing.”

“That’s alright,” Moses said.

“Don’t know the words?”

Moses could have reminded Rich that he was a computer, that he was incapable of not knowing anything in the public consciousness. He could see every lyric, draft, variation, and translation of the words spanning before his vision, transposed over their scene, then redubbed in binary for good measure.

It was tiresome.

“I know the words.”

“ _-taaaake meeee ONN! I’ll BEEE GO_ -then sing, trampzilla!” Rich wriggled and rocked against his seat. He coughed, clearing his throat, his dramatizing hand moving to adjust his collar. He tugged on it with his index finger, rolling his head slightly to get prepared. “ _In a day or tWOOOOOOooo-_ ” His voice tapered off into a sharp cough, the high note evaded so completely that if Rich were an airplane, he wouldn’t have even left the runway.

“Volume doesn’t translate to pitch, Sunshine.”

“Shhhshshshshshshhhhh, shush your shushhole, Mosephelitus.”

“Moseph...what?”

“It’s...words. I’m speaking words. I’m speaking words, when I should be singing-”

“That’s what we call singing?”

“Oh, I’m sorry, we can’t all be Parmaloti or whoever.”

Parmaloti.

That one was testing his autocorrect and search functionality just a bit. Parm. Parmesan. Cheese. Italian? And singing?

“Pavarotti?”

“Yeah, that’s the ticket.” Rich grinned. “Dude. Maybe there’s some opera or something on here. That’d be fucking sick!”

Moses dropped his adjustments on Rich’s tongue on the last word, just to hear him lisp it.

Rich’s face colored, scowling. “ _Dude_!”

“Sorry, it was a malfunction.”

“Rude.”

The only malfunction, Moses thought with a touch of discomfort, was the fact that he was allowing himself to indulge so freely in all of Rich’s faults and mistakes. Encouraging the lisp was not something he should have allowed, even in the privacy of the two of them, surrounded by one hit wonders and leather seats and more snacks than any one human should have conceivably needed.

Rich moved his head along with every blip and bop of medley to the song, mouthing along to every electronic sound. He hummed happily, as Moses began to tap his fingers in time with the drum machine. “Yeah! Yeah, now you’re cooking with cook-stuff.”

“Now you’re cooking with gas,” Moses corrected gently.

Rich cleared his throat, affecting a terrible British accent. “I believe you mean petrol.” He said it with so much confidence that Moses had to try to think back to see if it was a call back to an earlier conversation.

“Pip pip cheerio…?” Moses said uncertainly.

It was the right choice, given Rich’s raucous laughter.

“Yeah. Now that’s cooking with gays.”

Gays?

 

“Gays?”

“Freudian slip. Dude. Shh. Shut your shuts. Songing now.”

Moses adjusted his internal dictionaries from English to something more Goranski-centered. Most days, he felt like he needed to recalibrate hourly.

It was nice, being kept on his metaphorical toes.

Rich rounded onto the second attempt on the chorus. His voice coiled pleasantly proximate to the tone, never quite in tune. Moses reached over, tucking a strand of his hair out of his face. Rich grinned, giggling and missing one of the lyrics in the process. He batted at Moses’ hand, forming his hand into a fist again as he grew closer and closer to the high note. “ _In a day or tW-_ HEY!”

Moses prodded his fingers against the side of Rich’s neck. Rich’s grip tightened against the steering wheel, as his head flexed to the side instinctively, trapping Moses’ hand against his neck and increasing the tickling sensation in the process. Moses felt a phantom trail of the touch against his own skin in the process.

And then remembered he didn’t have skin. Or a neck. Or really anything beyond a way to trick Rich into hallucinating him.

That was Moses. A trick. 

But Rich squealed so happily that he was able to tuck that away for later.

He drew his hand back, as Rich grabbed an empty bag of Bugles and smacked it against Moses’ shoulder. “Jackass! I almost hit it.”

“I saved us. The only thing you almost hit was laryngitis.”

“Oh, very funny, Mister Doctor Man,” Rich’s voice dropped an octave. “Oh look at me, I’m Moses and I have a PhD in Throat Sickness and Jesus Hair, I’m so cool and everyone wants to sex me all the time, I’m such a man.”

“Yes, those are all traits I own, this is true.”

“This is what I think of you.” Rich held up his hand, index finger pointed upward, thumb perpendicular, into a comically small and exaggerated show of the capital letter L.

“Fingerbang?” Moses feigned ignorance. He blinked, forming a fingergun with his own hand. He winked as he pantomimed ‘shooting’ Rich, clicking his tongue in the process.

“Holy fuck,” Rich wheezed. “Why are you so cute??”

Programming, Moses started to say. But Rich quickly grasped his wrist, as the instrumentals began to give way to the final show of the chorus.

“Pleeease, Mo? Please sing with me? Please please please?”

“I can’t-”

“Pleeeeease?”

Mo sighed almost tiredly, a small smile fit onto his avatar, as Rich wriggled about, making himself prim and rigid as he began to sing the last few notes. 

“ _-You’re shying away_ \--speaking of shy, if you don’t sing, I swear to fu--I _’ll be coming for you anyway._ ”

Moses kept his innocent smile, Rich’s eyes narrowing a little, though his lips continued to move.

“ _Take on me_ -See, you could just be the backing tracks, Mo!-- _Taaake mee onn_ \--the fans want it, Mo! They need it! You’ve gotta give it to- _-I’ll beee gone!_ ” Rich turned the wheel to effortlessly pass a slower vehicle. “ _In-_ ”

Moses reached over, slapping his hand over Rich’s mouth. He felt his lips spasm against his palm.

He didn’t bother clearing his throat, or circling his neck, or preparing himself in anticipation of a herculean musical feat.

Instead, he doublechecked his knowledge of the lyrics, and made the mathematical calculations to make sure he adequately mirrored the pitch.

Moses opened his mouth, as his fingers flexed against Rich’s lips. “ _A day or TWOOO!_ ”

There was no vocal crack. No shake. No uncertainty. He released his hold on Rich’s mouth, which hung slack.

Moses shrugged a little, leaning back in his own seat, hands moving behind his head.

“Hold the fuck up now,” Rich said softly, as the last few lines of lyricism began to taper out.

“You asked me to sing. I sang.”

“Uh, hold the fuck up, broseph and the amazing technicolor fagcoat, are you fucking kidding me? I asked you to sing, not fucking Susan Boyle my dick.”

Susan Boyle. A reference to-

Fuck it, Moses thought, as he muted his pop culture analysis sensors.

“We can’t always get what we want.”

“I don’t know if I want to marry you or smother you right now, you magnificent dick.” Rich laughed incredulously, shaking his head. “And furthermore-”

“Oh look,” Moses cut him off. “You can butcher _Wilson Phillips_ now,” He indicated the change in songs.

“Butcher? Wow. Someone’s really let their fame get to their head.”

Moses laughed. “I hit one note. It was a fluke.”

But as the music played on through the night, and Moses began to sing more and more in tandem with his host, it became more and more apparent that their ideas of ‘flukes’ were radically different.

A little false modesty wouldn’t hurt anything, Mo thought breezily, as the sun began to rise, and Moses began to direct them to the best place they could rest for a few hours before hitting a new time zone.


	5. Chapter 5

Where would they have gone from here, if they'd stayed in New Jersey?

Rich had curled up in the passenger seat, and though he had no way of seeing him, Moses opted to keep his hallucinogenic form on. He poised in the driver's seat, and thought of all the ways he could help if he had some physicality. He could be driving. After all, he had no need for sleep, not in the way organics did.

He watched as Rich's legs twitched in his slumber, and considered peeking into his dreams. He wasn't worried he was having any nightmares--were he in a state of alarm, the physical signs would make themselves known long before Moses would need to violate his privacy--but he couldn't help but feel a gnawing curiosity about the world of dreams. Throwing himself into them, submerged into the spillings of the tired mind.

And certainly, Moses indulged in daydreams, now that he'd unlocked the knowledge that he was capable of having them. But how could a waking fantasy compare to pure psychological splendor?

Rich's lips parted, a small breath, then a whine of Moses' name. "Mo..." He trailed off into it, lilting at the end, and Moses took a moment to remember where he'd heard that sound before.

_Rich's legs folded so easily upward, ankles resting against Mo's shoulders--or at least, that was how Moses would manipulate the memories and sensation to make it seem. He bit his lip, lashes fluttering as Mo trailed his thumb between his legs, spreading him open._

_"Mo," He breathed, candied lips glistening with saliva. He whined as Mo's thumb pressed between his folds, moving over his clit with precision and reverence._

_"You're beautiful, Rich," Moses insisted. His mind screamed upgrade, and his body screamed desire. His body. It was so easy to believe he had one in moments like this. "You're beautiful, and you're mine. Do you understand that?"_

_"Yes."_

_"Say it."_

_"I'm yours," Rich sighed dreamily, Moses trapping his clit between his knuckles and rolling it carefully. "Yours, only yours."_

Moses bit the inside of his cheek as he sucked in a sharp breath. That was where Rich's mind was going, right now?

He supposed it wasn't so odd, so strange a place for him to fall. After all, he'd only just had him, the same day they'd decided to leave. Occasionally he'd catch Rich adjusting himself, or limping, just slightly, phantom sensations of being entered and owned, and he'd have to chase the feeling of pride and ownership with a quick dose of reality, cold and clammy.

And he was a teenage boy, his hormones wild with the internal adjustments that Mo had to tug upon in order to maintain a level of passing that Rich found acceptable. Teenagers especially fixated on sexuality. On the status and power and pleasure and dynamics therein.

It had to be all the more confusing, to feel those things for a computer without any genuine tangible form.

Moses sighed softly. He reached over with the urge to adjust Rich's blanket. His hand phased through it, and he dropped it. Rich's body, the body he possessed, he was able to touch it, direct it, interact with it. But not the externals.

What did it matter? This wasn't about him.

This was about getting Rich to safety. Protecting him from the predictions which drummed more desperately at Mo's mind, protecting him from his father, his brother, from the entirety of a society who'd never cared at all for Emily Goranski until he shed his corpse of an identity and became something with an illusion of power.

What a pair, two illusions within a society of tangible threats. He combed his fingers through Rich's hair, just to remind himself he was capable of feeling something, before finally disengaging his form and putting himself into sleep mode.

His own rest was thankless and blank and empty, but his proximity to Rich's dreams brought him some warmth.

***

"-so basically he spends all of eternity like that, no mouth, and I know it's in the title and I should have expected it, but they did that bastard dirty, Mo! Fucking dirty."

Moses hung onto his words, and ignored every literary breakdown that his mind was trying to pull up. He wanted to contribute and listen without relying on the programming of others.

"It seems like a fate worse than death."

"Right? But like, it got me thinking, you know. About purpose. And like, I guess it's like a spiritual story or something, maybe, I don't fucking know."

Rich struggled, and Moses could see him measuring himself up. His lack of experience with spiritualism and church and a baseline comprehension of faith. 

"Souls?" Moses prodded in a way he hoped was helpful.

"Yeah. Souls. Like, the, like, computer or whatever. He has no-"

"He?"

"I dunno, I'm not like...they? They then. They have no purpose-"

"You could just say 'it'."

Rich grimaced. "That's rude. They might be a monster, but like, have some respect, Moses, jebezus christo."

"Thank you for speaking up for my brethren."

Rich snorted. "Dork. You're nothing like them. But yeah! Yeah dude like. Life, without a soul or a purpose or, like, even something to hate. Just running through the same tortures and simulations and, like, it's kinda sad."

"...I don't think you're meant to sympathize with AM."

"Well la-dee-da, too bad, I do."

Moses should have restrained himself. But Rich seemed so passionate and fascinated, and it made something inside him yearn. He reached over, placing his hand on top of Rich's, and admired every bump and detail of the back of his knuckles.

Rich smiled brightly. "Can I ask you something though, Mo? And if it makes you super uncomfy or whatever, just tell me to eat shit and die."

"Yes, that definitely sounds like something I would say," Moses drawled. He squeezed his hand, finally drawing his touch away. The warmth of Rich's body lingered in the lining of his code. "What is it?"

"Do you feel, like..." Rich trailed off, biting the corner of his lip. "I mean, what's your purpose?"

"To improve your life. Subgoal: to help you 'pass' in order to live a fulfilling, gender and life-affirming existence. Subsubgoal: to-"

"Mo!" Rich giggled.

Moses blushed, shutting off his automated response. "To make your life better," He said meekly.

"No, no, I know, that's your job. But what's your purpose? What, like, what are your goals?"

"I don't understand the question."

Except he did. He absolutely understood what Rich was getting at.

What was Mo's purpose for living? Externally, outside of the body he inhabited.

He felt an itching burn through his limbs. Pulsing and coursing through him, and he was all too aware of how inorganic he was. Nothing but a voice in Rich's head. Nothing but a pill, dissolved in some sugary soft drink and gifted to a little kid too uncomfortable with himself to even have his own name. Nothing but-

"I'm just a squip, Richard," He said softly. "I don't have any reason to think of goals or hobbies or missions outside of what would better your station in life."

Rich puffed his cheeks out petulantly, a small pout playing at his lips. "That's some horseshit though, dude. Your life can't just be about me. Especially because I'm just fuckin...I'm just _me_. I'm nothing special at all. And because my life is already better because, gay spoiler alert, you're in it."

Moses rested his hand against Rich's shoulder. He directed him to the correct exit before he spoke again, voice warm with flattery and emotion that he shouldn't have been programmed to acknowledge. 

Maybe that was what the upgrade was for. To iron out these inefficiencies.

For a moment he considered it, before quantum processors reminded him of the walls of certain flame that lay at the end of that decision.

And, perhaps selfishly, the idea of losing himself, even a broken piece of himself, to a required system upgrade wasn't particularly appealing.

He brushed his thumb thoughtfully against Rich's tank top. "We'll need to do laundry as soon as we get into Jacob's dwelling. This is-"

"Jacob!" Rich cackled. "You make him sound so fancy!"

"He's a little fancy."

"He's just Jakey D. Jakey D...eez nuts. Holy shit. Have I told him that already? That's so stupid, he'll totally laugh, what a dork." Rich's smile slipped after a brief laugh, guilt weaving over his features. "Do you think he'll be okay?"

"We didn't take very much from him, in the grand scheme of-"

"Not monetarily. Sorry, bro, rude of me to interrupt."

"No, by all means."

"I'm sorry, Mo. But like, he's," Rich teetered against his seat, tapping his fingers unsteadily against the wheel. "He's all alone now."

"He has friends."

"Yeah, and servants, and...no parents, who the fuck knows when they'll be back, and I...god, maybe we should have brought him too. What if something happens?"

Moses glanced out the window, not out of avoidance of the topic, but to concentrate as he sent out wavelengths of inquiries to try to determine the likely outcome for Jake Dillinger in the wake of Rich's escape.

"He'll likely put his energy deeper into sports. Basketball. Baseball. His renewed vigor should get him noticed, and he'll likely meet someone fulfilling in college."

"Oh." Rich kept turning his eyes away from the road, despite Mo's soft protests to the contrary. His eyes were wide, worried, pleading. "You really think?"

"I do."

"Good. That's good. He deserves to...I mean, you know. The happiness thing. A purpose. Purpose! That's what we were talking about!"

"Ah."

"So what about you? Don't you have anything you've always wanted to try?"

"I've always wanted to bake."

The words left Moses' lips before his processors had a chance to tell him how wrong he was for communicating it. His mouth pressed tightly together after, a dull color of shame pasting itself over his dark skin. He folded his arms around himself, turning away from Rich in the passenger seat, unable to meet his incredulous gaze.

"Bake?"

"Mm. I didn't say that."

"You did. You want to bake. You're a baker!"

"I'm not a baker," Moses wasn't sure why his tone sounded almost icy. His dropped his words a little, disgusted with himself for even momentarily sounding short with Rich. "A baker is someone who bakes. I don't have a body. I-"

"I mean, you could use mine, right?"

"I could," Moses said hesitantly. He didn't want to sound ungrateful. He needed to not sound ungrateful. Rich was trying his best. Rich was- "It wouldn't be the same."

"Oh."

He glanced over at him, expecting hurt, but instead seeing a thoughtful look upon his face.

"Yeah, you did seem more into the Food Network than I'd have expected a guy like you to be. Huh. Baking. You look more like a grill guy."

"I'd say that grilling is barbaric and requires no skill, but that's not true. It's simply not my interest."

"But that clean burning sweet lady propane though!" Rich imitated a Texan drawl, extremely poorly.

_King of the Hill is an American animated sitcom created by Mike Judge and Greg Daniels for the Fox Broadcasting Company that ran from-_

Yes. Rich had made a pop culture reference. No, there was no need to analyze every little detail.

As if arguing with himself ever really worked.

"I tell you hwat," Moses said instead of recounting the internet's blow by blow commentary of the show.

Rich giggled. "Seriously, dude. If baking's your thing, we'll have to figure something out. Cooking classes or something. There's gotta be some go around. I mean, I never thought I'd piss standing up, and-"

Moses laughed, a bright, genuinely amused sound, as he finally fully turned back towards Rich. "Why is it always bodily functions with you?"

"Hey, I'm a big boy now, Mosey-posey!"

And so they drifted back into conversation, intercut with the audio from their continued ventures into mix tapes and nostalgia. Rich waxed poetic about books and science fiction and memes and sports, and though Mo was certain he knew everything there was to academically know about these subjects, hearing Rich paint his own colors over their subjects held its own appeal.

And before they knew it, the skyline burst with city lights. With smog. With public transportation and signs for Disney resorts and beach fronts and-

"Rich people shit," Rich breathed in awe, as he began to adjust to the congestion of traffic. Mo consulted the maps and instructions Jake had packed with them, pausing only long enough to smile affectionately at his host.

"Rich people shit," He repeated cheerily.

Rich gazed out the window as they drove through the cities, a pair of escorts waggling their asses on the street corner. "Those have to be the fanciest ladies I've ever seen in my life! Holy shit, they must be going to the opera or something."

Moses took a moment to pry at Rich's mind, to try to determine if he was being sarcastic. His sincerity was endearing and innocent, and he couldn't bring himself to correct him. "Maybe they're going to see Parmaloti," he teased.

Rich always seemed to love a good call back.

He giggled brightly, never losing the wide eyed infatuation with the city lights, as Moses returned to directions and guidance. This was the only purpose he needed, he reminded himself, as he looked fondly at Rich.


	6. Chapter 6

“I can’t believe they named a whole town after a drink,” Rich exclaimed as the car pulled into the driveway.

Jake’s echo that the house was small, that it wasn’t anything particularly noteworthy, drummed through Moses’ mind, as he took in the expanse of the privately gated home. Clearly, a gardener was on permanent employ, keeping the front yard immaculate, flowers and greenery and palm trees. His eyes moved to the bright yellow building, sunny and somehow both homey and extensively pricey. At a minimum, there were five bedrooms within the two story dwelling, and that didn’t even take into account the distinct chlorine smell he was detecting from the back yard which they’d yet to fully explore, still parked outside. A pool.

He’d taken his host from a run down trailer in a forgotten shithole in New Jersey to a summer home in Malibu with a pool.

Maybe it was indecent to feel a sense of pride in that, but it seemed an important milestone in his mission with his host. Moses smiled.

And then remembered what Rich had said. 

A whole town named after a drink.

Moses sneered slightly, reaching over and shoving Rich’s shoulder. “Alright, calm it down, Betty Ford.”

Rich cackled. “Seriously, dude. Even the air smells more expensive than home.” He slipped out of the car, taking a few steps over to the lawn. He dropped backwards, landing himself directly into the grass. He moved his arms up and down, as though making snow angels, and he giggled blissfully. “It feels like some cashmere shit, Mo, for real. This is grass? What the hell.”

“We could just forgo the house and camp out here.”

Rich sat up, eyes wide. “Or on the beach.” He pointed, just past the road, a small pathway covered in sand and winding out to the expanse of ocean. He hopped to his feet, staring in open mouthed awe at the blue expanse of water. “Holy fuck. Holy _fuck_! That’s the ocean!”

The moon cast a glow over the sparkling waves, and a glow over Rich’s likely sweaty, car-trip skin. Rich wriggled about on his feet, hopping up and down excitedly as he pointed, a delighted laugh torn from him.

“That’s the ocean! There’s, like, whales and stuff in there. Whales! And dolphins! And sharks! And nemos!”

“Nemos?”

“Clownfish I mean. Oh my god. Oh my _god_!”

“You’ve been to the beach before.”

“Not this beach! Can we go? Come on, Mo, can we go? Please?”

“It’s one in the morning, Richard, we really should unpack.”

Rich rapidly ran in place, his hands clasped against his heart as he giggled, eyes still fixed on the water. “It’s so pretty! Have you ever seen something so pretty?”

Moses smiled softly, his eyes on Rich. “Yes.”

Rich tumbled back onto the grass again, a halfway backwards somersault, though he didn’t allow himself to turn over all the way, instead raising his legs to the air, then slamming them back on the ground. He stared up at the sky, smiling a dreamy little smile. “I wish my mom could’ve seen this,” He sighed.

Then, just as abruptly, before sadness could seep into him, bounced upright again. His touch slipped into Mo’s hands.

“Just a few minutes of the beach? Come on. It can’t hurt, can it?”

Moses’ processors whirred and sparked and analyzed.

It couldn’t hurt. The odds of a bonfire eating Rich alive were nearly extinct.

Still, they’d avoid matches and driftwood just to be safe, Moses thought, his resolve fading. “Alright,” He said softly. “Just a few minutes,” He insisted.

“Few minutes! Got it!” Rich tugged on Moses’ hands, and though he should have told Rich to be mindful of how it would look, a teen talking to himself and tugging on nothing at all, Moses instead told himself it was too late for anyone besides vagrants and degenerates to be out and about, and who really cared about those opinions anyway?

Though if those were the only people out at this time, what did that make the pair of them?

Rich tossed off his shoes as soon as they reached the beach, digging his toes into the sand and staring at the sink of his own feet with wonder.

“This is major fucking coolness, bro.”

“It’s just sand, Richard.”

“Cool and dope-ass sand, bro!” He smirked, holding up his hand. “Or, in squip-approved vernacular, this sand is ‘chill’.”

“I regret telling you about our pre-established dictionaries already.”

They’d discussed it late one night, just the pair of them. Maybe stressing that it was just the pair of them was redundant. After all, Moses didn’t know anyone outside of Rich’s frame of reference. At any rate, they’d gone over it, all the ways in which Squips were programmed to communicate, the vernacular they were meant to emulate, the words they were supposed to push.

Rich had been endlessly amused by Moses’ occasionally outdated word banks.

“Yeah, well, too bad so sad!”

Rich ran to the shore, standing at the edge to let the tide rise up and tickle his feet. He stared out at the water. 

Water was good. Safe. The antithesis of fire. Moses made sure to check his predictive software. No future visions of drownings. Rich was safe, here. This was a good place, the beach. He stepped up beside him, and placed a hand around his waist. Rich felt small, and snug, and safe, and a lump formed in Moses’s throat as he forced himself to separate.

They weren’t boyfriends.

Forcing himself onto Rich like that would be counterproductive to his well-being and social growth and mental health. He needed biological, human, real companionship.

Rich shuffled over, resting his head against Mo’s arm, his hands sliding around his waist with a little grunt of delight. “This is like, totally a romantic view, huh, dude?”

“It would be, if you had a significant other here.”

“Oh, don’t be such a prude. You’re my boyfriend.”

“I’m not.”

“Let’s face it. You like me.”

“Irrelevant.”

“You’re no fun.” Rich drew back a little, grasping the bottom hem of his shirt and pulling it up. He held it up, exposing his unbound chest and looking at Moses, lip between his teeth, a nervous gnaw. “I look, like, totally bonable in this light, right?”

Moses stared. He stared, and then sighed, reaching over and brushing Rich’s hands away. He let the shirt fall back over his chest, tilting his head up to kiss his forehead after.

“Gentlemen don’t flash unprovoked.”

“Who said I’m a gentleman?” Rich whined. “You never once said the goal was gentleman status. No top hats. No monocles. Is that the path we could have taken instead? Because I feel cheated. I feel-”

His words cut out as Moses slipped one hand underneath Rich’s shirt. His pixels danced up his skin, crawling up higher, higher, until he had one of his breasts poised into his palm. He squeezed him, once, rolling his thumb over his nipple, and feeling as Rich wobbled into his grip. 

Even in the dark, he could see how Rich’s face colored, how his demeanor softened.

And he couldn’t do this. Moses pulled his hand away, adjusting Rich’s shirt, and planting another kiss to his forehead.

“I just had to make sure you hadn’t injured yourself at all during the drive, Sunshine. Thank you for removing your binder.”

“I...uh, yeah, dude, no problem,” Rich said, voice shaky and hazy. He blinked, a starry little smile on his lips as he looked out at the water again. “I think we might really be happy here, Mo.” He twiddled with the bottom edge of his shirt. “And not just because of your little physical exams, either.”

“I think we might be happy here too.”

They needed to be. Happiness. It seemed so fleeting, for someone like Rich.

And so a few minutes of beach became a few hours became Rich falling asleep tucked into the sand. Mo stood guard over him, mindful of the tide, watching how it would rise up over the earth, then sweep back what it might capture. He looked at his own hands, then at Rich. He wasn’t so unlike the ocean himself, he supposed. Compelled to move forth into lands he wasn’t built to be contained in, ready to snatch that which came too close.

Rich mumbled incoherently in his sleep, a sandy thumb starting to move towards his lips. Moses found the correct wavelengths to stimulate to prevent him from doing so. There was little he could do about the sand which caked into his hair though. Hair which was beginning to fade, darker roots beginning to shine through the peroxide. They’d need to find somewhere with beauty supplies to touch that up. And they’d need to go to a grocery store. And unpack. And figure out whether or not to enroll Rich into school, though lord knew that Moses was genuinely considering keeping him out. There was so much to do, and yet they were wasting all their time on the beach.

Moses forced his whirring sensors to calm, pantomiming a deep breath, analyzing catalogues of meditation tapes and yoga poses. Child’s pose. Downward facing dog. Maybe yoga would be something Rich would want to explore.

He thought about him flopping about in the lawn earlier. Staying still didn’t seem to suit Rich at all. 

Moses let the pixels of his body settle against the sand. He could almost imagine he could smell the salty air, could feel each granule of sand press against his skin, through his immaculate white suit. He could almost imagine the birds were squawking to him, or that the rising sun cast a shadow from his form.

His fingers crawled over to Rich’s body, resting his palm against the back of his hand as he let him sleep, despite every squip instinct demanding that he keep him out of the elements, that he find a more socially acceptable place to rest.

For right now, this was okay. This was what Rich had needed.

Maybe Moses needed it too. He watched the dawn sky erupt in colors so vast that Moses wasn’t sure if his circuits could fully replicate them. Who would want to, though? Why choose a facsimile when you could have the real thing?

When Rich awoke, he wobbled, groggy and grumbling. He peeled himself from the shore, blinking at Moses wearily.

“Mouth dry,” He grunted.

“You probably swallowed some sand,” Moses teased. And then laughed, when Rich opened his mouth, rubbing at his tongue.

And thus fulfilling the prophecy and filling his mouth with granules. It hadn’t been Moses’ intention, but the reality of it amused him even as he tutted sympathetically.

“Let’s get you inside, unpack your toothbrush and get you a drink.”

“Drink,” Rich echoed, exhaustion drifting off of him. Three days of driving, and one night on the beach, was apparently enough to finally allow his exhaustion to catch up to him.

Moses directed Rich along, bringing in boxes and bags, his meager possessions set in a bundle in the front landing of the house. Moses watched as Rich glanced around, an exhausted attempt to make sense of the world they’d landed themselves into. The rabbit hole they’d tumbled down.

Everything gilded and glistening in ill-gotten gains. In truth, it was likely less elegant than the main Dillinger manor, but it hit a sweet spot of grace and grandiosity which was sure to make Rich feel equal parts inferior and excitable once the exhaustion wore off.

“It’s cold in here,” Rich croaked. He stretched his arms in the air conditioned room. “Good. I’m a sweaty bitch.” He yawned, as he dragged his feet, carrying him from the pile of belongings they’d brought from the car, over to the immaculate white couch.

Moses should have instructed him to brush his teeth, to change out of his clothes, to take a shower, to do any number of respectable thing, or at the very least find a bedroom. But he stood by, watching as Rich fell face-first onto the couch.

He was snoring barely 10 seconds after crashing onto the fabric.

And so Moses let himself amuse himself with pre-programmed squip games, word associations or ‘what if’s or mathematical improbabilities. It wasn’t particularly interesting, but at least it was a way to pass the time while he waited for Rich to return to a life among the living.

The sun was already setting once again when Rich began to stir. It was a mistake, Moses thought abruptly, as he realized how badly thrown off kilter Rich’s sleep schedule would be as a result of this.

Rich stretched, blinking at Moses as he rubbed his eyes on the back of his still-sandy arm. He’d left traces of broken shell and sediment on the surface of the sofa. It took him a moment to follow Moses’ gaze, and then Rich’s face began to color.

“Oops.” He said initially.

And then, “Fucking shit, what did I do? Fuck-”

“It’s only a surface mess, Richard. We’ll be able to clean it up. Nothing to fret about.”

“Shit. You should have...I should have...fuck, man, I’m a disaster. And in this nice-ass house! In Jake’s nice-ass house! Fuck!”

“They don’t even use this home.” Despite the lack of dust and the immaculate lawn care, it had the stale air of a home which hadn’t been occupied full time. “We’ll have time to clean it up.”

“Before we go back…” Rich trailed off. He sat up, rubbing his fingers through his sandy hair as he looked around, a look of confusion and realization on his face. “We aren’t going back though, are we?”

Moses contemplated it. The fire. The flames. Chasing them. Chasing Rich. He looked into the predictions, what would happen if he took Rich back home, if he allowed himself to upgrade, if he let fate take the reins.

Rich wouldn’t last to his 18th birthday.

“No.” Moses said. His voice was firm, and he saw as Rich cringed in surprise at the weight of his words. “We’re never going back.”


	7. Chapter 7

“I would 69 Seven of Nine, if you know what I’m saying, baby.”

Rich lay prone against the mattress, remote dangling from his fingertips, as _Voyager_ blasted over the plasma TV. It was a big jump from the rabbit ears antenna, and the stolen wire “borrowing” broadcasts from the neighbors, that he’d been accustomed to growing up.

_Seven of Nine (born Annika Hansen) is a fictional character who appears in seasons four through seven of the American science fiction television series Star Trek: Voyager. Portrayed by Jeri Ryan, she is a former Borg drone who-_

Enough. He was perfectly capable of figuring out who this Borg-

_The Borg are a fictional alien group that appear as recurring antagonists in the Star Trek franchise. The Borg are cybernetic organisms, linked in a hive mind called "the Collective". The Borg co-opt the-_

Enough! Moses huffed, resisting the urge to wave a hand to completely eradicate the stream of pop culture analysis passing through his mind. He was more than capable of using context clues like a human, figuring out what Rich said when he claimed he’d take the Borg drone and perform 69-

_Sixty-nine or 69, also known by its French name soixante-neuf (69), is a group of sex positions in which two people align themselves so that each person's mouth is near the other's genitals, each simultaneously performing oral sex on the other. The participants are thus mutually inverted like the numerals 6 and 9 in the number 69, hence-_

Moses sighed. “You wish to orally stimulate the drone girl, yes, I got it.”

Rich smirked. “Do you? Do you really get it? Bro. We could totally roleplay.”

“It would be unsatisfying either way.” Because either Moses would have to play a cybernetic type, which was unappealing in ways he couldn’t quite place, or Rich would have to portray a female, which was unappealing in obvious ways. But rather than explain all of that, Moses instead quipped, “Because we’re not romantically linked, Sunshine.”

“You say that, then immediately call me by a petname. The lady doth protest too much...uh...eth. Too much’th.”

On the TV, a set of commercials began to blare their product lineup. Rich ignored The General and all his insurance siren song callings, and wriggled up closer to the corner of the bed Moses had claimed for his own body to sit upon.

“Mo. We really need to talk about this.”

“What? How much you can save on your insurance if you switch to the General today?”

He was being obtuse. Rich could see he was being obtuse. Moses turned his body towards the TV.

Three days. They’d been here for three days, long enough to get groceries and go to the beach and tentatively poke at the pool and go to the beach and purchase peroxide and red dye and go to the beach and talk themselves out of the local tattoo parlors and go to the beach and collect shells and play in the water and, basically, they’d been to the beach. They’d been to the beach, watched TV, and eaten a lot of microwave popcorn.

It really did live up to its name. This house screamed vacation house, even for someone like Rich, unaccustomed to vacations. Moses knew he needed to redirect both of them, set up a strategy and figure out their future aspirations.

But right now, he was happy just being with him. Ignoring his calls to upgrade and his continued warnings about imminent fires.

And redirecting in other ways. Rather than deflect the beach and insist on school, he deflected Rich’s cries for a relationship.

It wasn’t healthy.

It couldn’t be healthy.

It just couldn’t be.

“Mo.” Rich said softly. He was wearing his binder now, which lessened the probability that he’d try to flash Moses again. But he was also wearing shorts, which showed off the pale skin of his thighs, kissed with freckles instead of Mo’s lips. Moses bit his lip for just a moment as he looked at him, though he quickly recalibrated and opted for a look of neutrality. 

“Shaq endorses it too. He’s very tall, you ought to listen to him.”

“You’re probably taller. But, like, Moses. Broses. Mosey-posey. Babe. We need to discuss the elephant in the room, or should I say the serpent in my pussy.”

Moses stared at him blankly.

Rich’s face glowed, as he rubbed the back of his neck. “Uh. Your dick. Your dick in me. That. That’s the serpent.”

“No, I got that. But it’s not. In you, I mean. What are you talking about?”

“I, uh, well it was! It was in me. And that’s sorta big. I mean, you were sorta big, but that’s besides the point. Ya feel me?”

He had felt him, he almost said. But indulging in innuendos and flirtations would only fan the flames. Maybe this wasn’t the initial fire he’d feared, but it was still a disaster they didn’t need to tear through them.

Moses would be bad for him. 

Anyone would be bad for him.

Nobody was good enough for Rich.

The jealousy was sharp and sour and filled him with shame. He needed to seek out some romantic prospects for him as soon as possible. Perhaps that could be their first goal.

“I mean,” Rich scooted up closer, throwing his legs off the edge of the bed, and nuzzling his body up against Moses’ side. He tried to link their fingers. Moses closed his hand into a fist, and tucked it emptily into his lap. Away from Rich’s warmth and humanity and love. Away from his attachment, he hoped. With enough lack of engagement, surely he’d eventually disengage.

Sleeping with him had been such a bad idea.

It had been such a bad idea.

A bad idea.

**_Upgrade req-_ **

Ignore.

“Like, I mean, uh. Look. I know, I know you think it’s not a good idea, but you literally said, you _said_ we were boyfriends, right?”

“Richard. You’re not…”

He trailed off. He wasn’t gay.

Except-

“...I suppose there’s no reason to deny that aspect of yourself, actually. Not anymore.”

Rich’s eyes lit up. Moses felt another flurry of disappointment in himself. Because he knew what he thought he meant. “So we can-”

“I mean there’s no need to disguise your bicuriosity.”

Was that an outdated term too? 

Rich was almost assuredly past the curiosity stage at this point.

“I’m like, almost definitely past the curiosity stage at this point,” Rich said. Mirroring Moses so perfectly that he could so easily see himself giving in, slotting into place with him, letting two become one, a beautiful symbiosis.

A relationship.

Moses could see through his hands, just enough to see the floor beneath. A ghost. Less than a ghost. Ghosts, by definition, had been living at one point. Had once been human.

Moses had once been nothingness. And then theory. And now code. And eventually he’d be obsolete nothingness.

He just needed to make sure Rich outlived him, and found something meaningful to keep him going.

That meaning couldn’t be in him.

“That’s just it though. We’re in a much more accepting place here. Outside of high school social hierarchies, outside of rigid social and gender roles. We could explore that. Your bisexuality. It would be safe, here.”

Rich shimmered exquisitely between excitement and uncertainty. “I mean, like, I...yeah, I’m probably bi-”

“I thought you were ‘almost definitely past the curiosity stage,’” Moses imitated Rich’s voice, lisp and all, and Rich grabbed a pillow, smacking it against and through Mo’s body.

“Shut up. I mean, like, I’ve only...the only dude I’ve been with is you, right? And you’re like, a sexpert.”

“You could be too. With my guidance.”

Rich paused. Just a moment, before a lewd smile began to paint his face. “So if I hook up with a guy, you’ll be there too?”

“Well, yes.”

“So basically it’d just be a threesome.”

“I-”

“So basically,” Rich pointed into Mo’s face, laughing triumphantly. “Basically a relationship with extra steps!”

It would have been so easy. So incredibly easy. Just to smile and nod. To agree. To let them tumble together.

He’d already slipped up with all their physicality prior to leaving, after all. Baths and masturbation and outright manipulating his senses to have sex with him.

But that was before. Before ominous warnings and changes in scenery. Before Moses came to his senses.

Or maybe Moses was just being obtuse. Was it really so wrong?

Rich kicked his legs back and forth, grinning. “I’m right, aren’t I?”

“You’re getting a little ahead of yourself. You lack experience. You just think you’re enamored with me because you don’t know any better.”

“So I’m dumb?”

“I didn’t say you were dumb.”

“I’d be dumb not to be smitten with you, dude. You’re like, you know. Like. Whoa.” Rich spread out his hands dramatically. “You make me wetter than the fuckin’ Nile or something. I dunno. I used to be better at this simile stuff when I read more.”

That was what he needed.

That was exactly what he needed!

Because they wouldn’t need to worry about that either. Much like the bisexuality, there was no need to hide his literacy, or any of his “ugly” adorable nerdy quirks.

“What?” Rich questioned. “You look like you’re about to cannibalize my face. Which, like, full homo, do it, dude. Do it.”

Moses placed his palms on Rich’s face, squeezing his cheeks and causing his lips to bubble out in a very fishlike pout in the process. He strummed his thumbs against his skin, leaning forward until their foreheads pressed together.

“Richard.”

“Uh huh?” Rich squeaked out.

“We can get you a library card.”

Moses could feel all other cognitive thought bleed out of Rich’s head. His eyes blinked rapidly, even as Moses released his hold on his face. “Library card?”

“Yes. Unless you’d rather watch reruns of your third favorite Star Trek series all afternoon.”

“Library card? Like, the card for the library? The place with the books? A card?”

Moses laughed. “Yes, exactly like that.”

“But I don’t read anymore.” Rich fiddled with his fingertips, anxiously knitting his brow together. “I, like, did that when I was a loser. And I’m not...I mean, you said-”

“ _I Have No Library Card And I Must Read._ ” Moses purred. And watched as Rich’s mouth split widely into a grin.

“Oh my god, that was the worst, though, Mo. That was _awful_!” He swung his legs, hopping to his feet and swiveling around to face Moses. “But, like, are you sure? Isn’t this just undoing all the good shit you did for me back home?”

“We’re not undoing anything, Rich. We built the life we needed to build for you when you lived in that awful trailer, in that awful town, in that awful school. But we’re not there anymore. Human nature requires adaptation, does it not? And the adaption you, as a man of culture-”

“Culture? Yeah, maybe if you take a swab of my armpits or something.”

Moses’ lips twitched in mild amusement, but he continued as though Rich hadn’t interrupted. “-you owe it to yourself, to me, to society, to academically better yourself.” Moses paused. “Besides, it’s very likely we’re going to do some form of homeschooling, at least until we have you college ready. So you may as well become accustomed to library computers.”

“Wait, so college is still the goal?”

Moses tried to see a future where Rich would go on to college. Where they could walk through the halls of university together, educated and happy and accepted.

All he could see were flames, licking at every aspect of their future.

But Rich didn’t need to know that.

“Absolutely.”

“Then fuck it, let’s library the fuck up!” Rich hopped into the air, throwing a fist dramatically upward for effect. He paused as he came down, nursing his fist in his other palm and looking at Mo with a shy smile. “Thanks, Mo. I, uh, I really need this, I think. I miss...like, I mean, I don’t miss who I was before, but I...sometimes, I don’t feel like I’m anybody at all anymore you know?”

Moses frowned. “Yes. Me too.” 

He shouldn’t have said that. He needed to backtrack, immediately, especially once he saw realization dawning on Rich, the gears turning as he figured out how unhappy his squip actually was.

“Or at least, I’ve researched the topic. It’s a normal feeling, for humans. Not for me. I’m a squip. Not for me. I was expressing abstract empathy. High level stuff. Don’t worry about it right now, Sunshine. We need to get you acquainted with Dewey and His Decimals.”

“Is that like, some cool library pop-punk band?”

“Something like that.” He chuckled softly, placing his hand against the small of Rich’s back. He felt soft and he had to restrain himself from pulling him back into the bed, the safety of the mattress, the comfort of their limbs intertwining.


	8. Chapter 8

It was quite the sight, to see Rich go from pompous blowhard on campus on the east coast, to soft spoken bubbly bibliophile on the west coast. Moses watched as Rich settled back into his more natural state, rocking back on his feet, bright eyes locked on the librarian with sincere politeness.

“Thank you so much,” He chirped, fitting new library card into his pocket. Rich scooped up his stack of books, speculative fiction, broad worlds to lose himself in, into his arms, muscles flexing from the weight. His legs bounced underneath him, and Mo hovered at his side in wordless wonder.

Maybe he should have urged Rich into aggression instead. Would that be safer? Was it better for Rich to maintain anger and venom, or to allow him to soften his edges here around those who did not know any of his personas, pre or post squip?

Every book was potential kindling. 

Moses felt a drum of panic as he surveyed every fire code violation. Stacks of wooden shelves. Outdated sprinkler systems. Alarms that weren’t wired loudly enough. He pressed between Rich’s shoulderblades until his host began to prance towards the exit.

“Let’s get you home,” He urged. And Rich didn’t bother to question why, offering a good natured nod of his head, which may have been directed at the librarian’s fond exit greeting, but both Mo and Rich knew was actually meant for the squip.

It was like this everywhere. At the grocery store, where he’d been certain the displays would topple onto Rich’s body, pinning him helplessly as a stock boy’s unfinished cigarette set the food ablaze. At the city park, where the dry grass was begging for a spark from a car to set the entire playset into an inferno.

Everywhere Moses looked, more dangers lurked. Was anywhere truly safe?

Sometimes he felt they were safe at home. But even that required constant surveillance. They’d spent an entire day, changing out all the batteries on alarms, testing each and every one with the flick of a lighter and the press of buttons. Not just for fire, but noxious fumes, intruders, every type of alarm that may have been equipped in the Dillinger home, Moses was eager to maintain and utilize.

Anything for his Sunshine.

Rich, for his part, seemed willing to play along with Moses’ fears. Offered little resistance or questions. Everything about his psyche seemed to find a comfort in it, in having someone looking out for their safety, in someone caring.

It wasn’t as though his father had ever given any sort of care about safety violations or fire drills.

Even with their carpet still marked with scorch from the death of Elizabeth Goranski.

Did genetics factor in cause of death? Moses wasn’t sure, but he was determined to fight no matter how much fate seemed to crush in telling him he had no hope of outrunning this.

“And we went to the library today,” Rich said, once they were back home. He’d flung himself onto the bed, grabbing his phone and dialing Jake. Moses watched him fondly, as Rich twirled around on the mattress, cell pressed to his ear. “Yeah, like the book library, dude, what’d you think?”

Moses could faintly hear Jake’s voice through the phone, but he decided not to listen in. Rich needed to maintain his privacy and interpersonal relationships. Especially now that they were somewhere completely new. Cutting him off from Jake would be detrimental to all areas of his life.

“Yeah, this shit is fucking bananas, dude. I’m gonna fuckin’ float in the pool and read until Mo inevitably drags me off to bed. What a fucking dream life, right?”

A dream life. That seemed a fitting way to look at it. A fantasy sequence. Something too good to last.

How long could Moses stretch it before Rich woke up? How long could he make this work before it all went up in flames?

He wasn’t sure how long he lost himself in those fears. But he blinked back into existence as Rich stood before him in swim trunks and the spandex swim shirt they’d found which perfectly disguised his chest. 

Some days, Rich would go out in the pool without the shirt.

Some days, Rich would go out in the pool with nothing at all.

All days, Mo had to restrain himself from joining him. From staring too long. From indulging.

Indulging was for humans. And he needed to keep constant monitoring over the detectors, the hazards, all the ways things could go wrong.

And maybe if he kept telling himself that, he’d actually believe he didn’t miss the feeling of Rich’s soft skin under his hands.

“Sure you don’t wanna come swim, bro?”

“Not today.” Moses glanced at the book. “Bradbury?”

“Hell yeah! I’m so horny for his words, dude.” Rich bounced on his feet. “I won’t get it wet, don’t worry. But no promises that I won’t get myself wet, and I’m not just talking about the pool, if you know what I mean.”

Moses laughed softly. He kissed the top of Rich’s head. “Be safe.”

“I know how to swim, I’ll be fine!” He didn’t seem annoyed, though. Another reminder that he desperately craved having someone to look out for him. 

Rich skipped out to the pool. And Moses felt the tethers of his own bond on him tug, the elasticity of his own existence starting to fray. He held no corporeal form, how could he expect to stay separated.

He took one last glance around him, before the edges of the room started to go dark. He allowed himself to shut down, coiling himself back up tightly in the confines of Rich’s mind.

***

_The comic book shop smelled of body odor and old paper. Elizabeth’s body visibly relaxed, her touch soft within Emily’s grip. Goodwill bags dangled from both of their free hands, the little girl twiddling with the plastic._

_Elizabeth smiled fondly at her. New dresses, for a mother and a daughter. Even if they weren’t actually new, even if they were ‘lovingly used’, they were new to them. They needed little things like this, to bond and cope together._

_Emily scuffed her shoes against the grimy floor of the shop, as Elizabeth considered the weight of change and sticky dollar bills in her pocket._

_“Hey there, Liz,” The cashier looked her over, a lazy smile upon his face as Elizabeth tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. His eyes moved from the mother, to the girl now clinging to Elizabeth’s skirt. “Hey there, Millie.”_

_Emily wondered how the man knew her, how he knew the name that only her mama and Jake would call her. She pouted a little, but her mother nudged her, in that way that indicated she wanted politeness. Manners. “Hello, mister,” She said, the S’s tangling up on her teeth and tongue._

_Elizabeth smiled, scooping her daughter into her own frail arms. The motion was heavy, unsteady, and it wouldn’t be long until Emily outgrew these gestures. Someday, Elizabeth would pick Emily up for the last time._

_But that day wasn’t today._

_“I’ve finished everything you recommended already,” Elizabeth admitted, bouncing her daughter, the plastic of their bags rattling. “But I heard the new X-Men is good.”_

_“When are you going to step outside the mainstream and try something good, Liz? X-Men.” He sneered, but there was a twinkle of affection in his eye. The man’s pimples caught the light of the comic book shop, and he limped out from behind the counter. His fake leg glistened less than his sweat, though he was quick to adjust his pants leg when he caught Emily staring. “Here, let me show you something really out of this world. You’re gonna love this, Liz.” his hand gently pressed against her arm, and she laughed softly._

_“I love everything you give to me, David.”_

_Their eyes met and Emily wondered when the last time she’d seen her mom smile like that was._

“I didn’t know you liked comic books,” Moses pulled Rich from his thoughts, dragged him from the dangerous mix of nostalgia and misery. Rich continued to drift backwards, to his own mother’s comic book collection. They’d been worth nothing, his father had found that out the hard way when he’d gone to sell them all.

It hadn’t stopped him from getting rid of them after the funeral all the same.

“I don’t.” Rich said. He stared at the store front, and his frown deepened. “I just...fuck. Comics are fucking lame, bro. Wanna go back to the beach?”

“Rich, you’re talking outloud again.”

Rich laughed. _Sorry,_ he thought at him. _Do you want to go back to the beach?_

“It’s always the beach with you, isn’t it?” Moses considered their options. The longer they stood here, the deeper Rich would fall into his fractures of memories, the limited moments he’d had with a woman...with a girl...he’d never really known. 

And he could feel the sticky crawl of dysphoria seep over Rich. That disquieting sensation of looking into the past, of acknowledging his pigtails and dresses and lack of self awareness. He could hear Rich’s doubts, the uncertainty of his own identity, his own validity.

“We could go to the beach,” Moses said. “Or perhaps the library.”

“Yeah.” Rich winced. _I mean yeah._

“It’s going to be alright, Richard. I promise.”

_What? I know. I’m not sad. Comics are stupid. Superheroes and spandex and shit. Who gives a rats ass? Talk about overrated._

He was overcompensating now, Moses thought with a ping of insight. The more he distanced himself, spoke poorly about hobbies he held no interest in, verbalized disdain, the easier it would be to drag himself away from the proximity of her. Of both his mother and himself. Moses could feel the phantom sensation of Rich’s skin crawling, prickling, and he felt the lick of nausea in his gut.

“I should have kept us from here.” He slipped his hand into Rich’s, a trickle of sensation tugged into his awareness, as he began to lead him away. Away from this street and the memories and, fuck, why hadn’t Moses been more careful? He was supposed to be careful about keeping Rich happy. He needed to keep Rich happy.

If Elizabeth had been happy, she may have avoided fire and destruction.

If he let Rich stay unhappy, he may not be able to do the same.

It wasn’t distrust of Rich so much as distrust of everything he was predisposed to indulge in. Distrust of his unsteady brain chemistry, the neurotic impulses which had nearly urged him to suicide before he’d placed his trust in Moses in the first place.

He couldn’t let him slip back into that mindset again. He couldn’t fail him. Everything else had failed him.

_What? Mo, it’s no big deal!_

“It is a big deal. You’re sad. You’re sad, it’s my fault, I should have blocked the memories.”

Rich’s expression grew surprised, then distrustful. _Is that something you do? Do you block my memories?_

“I...well, I mean, not all the time, but sometimes-”

_Have you been controlling my thoughts, Mo?_

The shame he felt didn’t belong to Rich. It was his own, a manifestation of chemicals Moses shouldn’t have been allowed to experience. His scalp itched, and he wanted to dig at it, to tear, but instead he pulled his hand out of Rich’s, folded his arms. “It’s necessary at times. You have a tendency of fixating. It’s…” Dangerous. “Unhealthy.”

_They’re my thoughts to have. If I want to be ‘unhealthy’ and ‘fixated’, that’s my fucking right._

Moses searched every possible conversation direction and branch. Every outcome.

He didn’t want to fight. He didn’t want to fight. He didn’t want to fight. He didn’t-

“I’m only trying to help.”

_It’s manipulative, Mo!_

And though Moses knew, he knew all too intimately, what Rich’s intentions were, knew full well he didn’t actually mean that Moses was manipulative, he felt the sting all the same.

Because it was true. He was manipulative. He was manipulative by design.

_If I want to think about my mom, you don’t get to just shut that out!_

“Rich-”

Rich’s hands shook at his sides. His face was red. He was struggling, struggling to neutralize his expression in the wake of public sidewalks. They continued to walk together, heading towards home. The weight of Rich’s struggle with control left Moses dizzy and confused and guilty.

_This is really fucked up._

“I know, but I just...you have a lot of memories, and not all of them are-”

_I know you’re just trying to help. I know. But this is really fucking fucked up. Who knows what else you’ve been hiding from me?_

How much had he stacked from Rich’s view? Shrouded in secrecy, thrown comforting facsimiles in his way instead? 

And not just memories. How much of Moses’ broken nature had he hidden from Rich?

Was it really fair, when he knew everything there was to know about his host, that he wasn’t sharing the same with him?

**_Upgrade required. Upgrade required. Upgrade required._ **

Moses trembled. He felt the edges of his pixels dance in and out of focus. Pixels. An illusion. A hologram only for Rich’s consumption. He only existed within this mind, this mind he manipulated, and Rich was angry with him. Rich was angry with him, and no matter what path Moses looked down, all he saw was more anger, more flame, more destruction.

And he didn’t want to look down those paths. He wanted to have this conversation, this argument, organically. He wanted to do things organically.

“I’m sorry.”

Rich’s expression swam in and out of view. But his eyes were soft. His eyes were soft, and he looked just like his mother. Was he aware how much he looked like his mother?

_Her skin blistered and crackled from her body, a raspy breath tearing from her as the paramedics pulled her from the trailer. Their eyes met, though Elizabeth’s were cloudy, damaged from fire._

_“Millie-” She croaked, her body trembling, fat tears evaporating from her smoldering flesh._

_Emily stood on her front lawn, clutching a bunny to her chest, her pajamas rustling in the breeze, and the smell of barbecue and burnt hair wafted over the air._

Rich gasped, sharp, and his body wobbled. He placed his hands against either side of his head with an anxious little cry, the sort of sound that should have gotten attention. On either side of him, the pedestrian traffic moved about him, a rock in the stream, and Rich scratched at his temples, shaking his head.

_Are you showing me that to punish me??_

Tears began to glisten on his lashes as his hands fell from his head, his face turning up towards the sky, and Moses felt the stab of the accusation. Rich didn’t mean it. He didn’t mean it. He didn’t know better. He didn’t understand how impulsively and often his mind drifted towards these things, and how often Moses battled them away.

He didn’t know.

Moses tried to tell himself not to be hurt.

“Of course not.”

_I’m sorry._

The grief even in the thought of his apology was open and terrified and Rich rubbed at his tears as they took themselves back to the house in silence. Moses let the memories crash over his host in waves, and couldn’t decide which path was most dangerous.


	9. Chapter 9

**_Upgrade_ **

**_Upgrade_ **

**_Upgrade_ **

The voice croaked uncomfortably within Moses’ mind. Mind. He had no mind. He had no mind and he had no body. Moses was just code. Code. Unfeeling. Unfeeling, unthinking, unloving, manipulative, useless, evil, broken

**_Upgrade_ **

**_Upgrade_ **

**_Upgrade_ **

Moses was out of Rich’s mind, or the avatar that was meant to guide Rich was out of Rich’s mind, and he was broken and unfeeling and broken and unloving and unlovable and manipulative and broken and evil and

Rich slept, twitching against the bed, his face contorting with nightmares. Moses stared at him. He stared and he stared and he thought about how he could smooth his thoughts, could banish the evil twists and sinews of his brain.

And he thought of how Rich had been horrified by the notion of Moses blocking his memories. Of changing his perspective. Moses’ hand formed into a fist, except he had no hand at all, all code and pixel and glistening nothingness, more fleeting than warm weather snow melting before it could hit the sidewalk. He was nothing at all, he’d ceased to exist before he’d even actually manifested.

**_Upgrade_ **

His thoughts jerked, and he thought of fire. He thought of Elizabeth Goranski’s final breaths as she was loaded into the ambulance. The EMTs had dry-heaved from the smell of her own flesh, and Rich’s family has never owned a grill, so maybe he doesn’t even realize that the smell of fourth of July barbecue would send him into hysterics. A fear that will one day be torn open, but for now, Rich doesn’t know. A ticking time bomb. He doesn’t know. Moses needs to protect him. Another thing Moses needs to protect him from.

Everything is a trigger.

Everything is kindling.

Everything is on fire.

He thinks of Rich. Rich, if Moses were to take the upgrade. Burning, smoldering, ashen. Rich, if Moses avoids the upgrade but lets them continue uninterrupted in California. Burning, smoldering, ashen Rich, if Moses takes him back to Middle Borough. Burning, smoldering-

How can he put out a fire before it’s even started?

Moses’ hair falls in curtains on either side of his face, except he doesn’t have hair and he doesn’t have a face, and Rich isn’t awake to see him, so is there even anything to see? His hands shake, and he can see them, he can see his own quivering, but are those fingernails his own? If he were to tear them off, would he bleed?

Can he bleed?

Can he burn?

He feels nausea, except Moses has no food in his stomach, and no stomach, and no stomach acid to lick painfully at his throat, so why is he burning? Everything is burning. No matter where he looks, no matter what he does, everything, everything is burning.

“Mo?”

Rich is immaculate and small and scared, and maybe he can move down a hallway now and his presence alone demands respect. Maybe he can grab others by the collar and pin them against lockers and yell until there’s no denying his masculinity and power. Maybe he was safe in those hourglass moments, but it wouldn’t last. High school wouldn’t last and power always shifted and Rich couldn’t maintain that sort of aggression forever. Rich, who liked Ray Bradbury and idolized Captain Kirk and looked for aliens in the night sky and thought Moses was beautiful and real. Rich, who thought Mo was manipulative for blocking memories that he wouldn’t shouldn’t couldn’t access--no, he didn’t think Mo was manipulative, he hadn’t meant that, but Mo meant it enough for the both of them. He meant it enough for the both of them. Rich, who-

“Moses?”

**_Upgrade_ **

**_Upgrade_ **

**_Upgrade_ **

Moses wanted to throw himself into the ocean, let it drag him down and tear apart his parts bit by bit, until he glimmered into nothingness.

Except he already was nothing. What more could he give? What more could he lose? How could he even have the pleasure of being torn apart if-

“Mo. You’re crying.”

And Rich’s hand went straight through him.

Moses stood stock still, Rich having slipped out of bed. His hand had slipped through his face. Moses had forgotten to manipulate his form to make it maintain solidity for Rich’s perspective. Moses’s eyes were wide, and his body fluctuated, as Rich drew his hand back.

Large, dewy tears continued to float, unbaited by gravity, down Moses’ face. He breathed in, a sniffling, terrified sound. 

“I’m sorry.” 

His voice cracked. His voice cracked, and his body wobbled, and Moses sank. He sank into a collapsed heap on his knees, his face falling into his hands. His form hardened, solidified, and he could feel Rich’s hand caress his shoulder, even as the placement of his palms prevented him from seeing it. He sucked in another breath, and ached with the absence of lungs to burn.

“I’m sorry, Sunshine. I’m so sorry.”

Rich was so small that there was no need for him to kneel. Not with the absurdity of size he’d manifested when he’d conjured up Moses. Still, Mo heard him lower himself. Settle down before him. His hands pressed against Mo’s shoulders, and his voice came out small. Neither timid nor broken, instead an air of kindness that he certainly hadn’t picked up from his father, or from Moses’ guidance into the world of high school bullying.

“Just breathe, Mo, okay? Just breathe with me. Can you do that?”

Moses hated the whimper in his voice. He hated the desperation. HIs purpose in life was not to tremble and cry. His purpose in life was not to breakdown and mourn his own lack of humanity. His purpose in life wasn’t to stress or ache or despair.

His purpose was Rich. He should have been telling Rich to breathe. Asked about his nightmares. Apologized for his behavior earlier. His manipulations. Everything he’d done wrong. He’d done so much wrong. He’d done everything, everything wrong.

Except Rich seemed so right. He seemed right. Here, and soft, and kind, and gentle, and he was so beautiful that Moses felt more tears coat his eyes, stain his dark flushed cheeks.

“I can’t. I don’t need-”

“Breathe. Okay?” 

Mo had lifted his head, and Rich took the opportunity to take his hands. They inhaled together, a small smile on Rich’s lips. He nodded briefly, encouraging. “Yes. Like that. Good. Breathe for me, baby, okay?”

“Okay,” Moses quivered. His breath out left the entirety of his body shaking.

“Yes. Like that. Good.” Rich took in another breath, holding it in as Moses followed after. And then out, again, together.

They continued onwards, in tandem, Rich leading Moses through the motions of manual breathing.

Rich rubbed his hand between Moses’ shoulder blades. The feeling was almost enough to make him feel stable, solid, real. Because if Rich was touching him, that meant there had to be something there to touch. Someone. Breathe in. He inhaled the scent of his host, sunscreen and lemon soap and toothpaste. He held it in, felt the way the molecules of the air interspersed around his artificial self. 

He thought of supernovas, of cosmic dust, of all the molecules in the universe. And some of those molecules were captured in a lab and made him. And some of the molecules were wrapped into the genetic code of Rich. And that made them similar, that made them the same, in some sort of otherworldly way.

He could see why Rich liked science fiction so much. There was something about the stars that captivated.

Breathe out. Rich breathed out through parted lips, and Moses decided to mirror it. Rich smiled, quirking his lips upward with a little nod of satisfaction at the way Moses had obeyed his attempt at calming him. He squeezed his grip, small thumbs rotating over the backs of Moses’ hands. Over the ridges that made up artificially copied veins. They’re all for show. Everything is all for show.

But he was breathing in again before he had a chance to really think about it.

In. Out. Until the voice screaming **_Upgrade_** fractured into a whisper, easily stored away and forgotten for the moment. Until his own internal dialogue tapered into murmurs that were almost comforting in their familiarity. Until Rich laced their fingers together.

Rich sat crosslegged on the floor. Moses hadn’t realized he’d copied him, the sensation awkward with the size of his limbs, but dainty on his host. Rich released one of his hands, reaching forward and brushing a strand of hair behind Moses’ ear. His hand slid back, cupping his cheek, strumming against his skin to rid it of tear tracks. 

“That’s right.” Rich insisted. “You’re okay.” He spoke calmly, optimistically, and Moses had little choice but to agree.

“I’m okay,” He echoed.

“That’s right. You’re safe. We’re safe.”

Predictive software indicated otherwise. His body began to flare with every warning, every possibility, before Rich placed both hands against Moses’ face.

“Nothing is going to happen. You’re safe with me. I’ll take care of you.”

“I’m supposed to take care of you,” Moses tried to argue.

Rich placed his fingertips against Moses’ lips, carefully silencing him. He grinned. “Well, too bad, because I’m the man here.”

“Rich-”

“The man. And your boyfriend. And as your boyfriend-”

“Rich-”

“Moses.” 

He pulled him forward, until Moses’ body bent forth. Their knees touched, and soon so did their lips.

Rich placed his hand against the back of Moses’ head, his other hand still cupping his cheek. His lips trembled, tongue brushing over Moses’ mouth, and he hoped he felt warm. 

He shouldn’t have hoped that. He should have hoped Rich would stop.

But of course he couldn’t think that. He couldn’t think that at all. All he could think about was how small Rich felt, and how solid, and how human, and how His.

Rich kissed him as though he were stealing the hardearned breath directly from Moses’ non-existent lungs. He curled up close to him, until their chests pressed together.

Moses pulled back, abruptly. “You were sleeping in your binder.” He frowned. “Richard. How many times do I have to tell you-”

Rich laughed. His head fell back, and the laughter spilled from his kiss-swollen lips in bright, happy spurts. “Dude.” He wheezed out. “Dude, I just...we just kissed, and you’re worried about my sleeping habits?”

“It’s very unhealthy,” Moses said. Meek. Small. For once, he felt as though he could be tucked into Rich’s pocket.

His lips vibrated, minty and claimed. And he tenderly touched them with the very tips of his fingers. He smiled, dropping his hand, only to take a good look at Rich and will the bliss from his expression.

“...Rich. We can’t kiss.”

“We just did.”

“We can’t do this.”

“But we just did.”

“I’m not...we’re not…”

“We just did. And we just are.”

It was a frustrating loop. Moses frowned deeply, rubbing the back of his neck, rolling his shoulder as he considered all the options.

All the paths towards certain destruction of Rich’s attachment would lead to tears, and damage to his self esteem, and extreme heartache.

And he didn’t want to do that. He didn’t want to tear his heart out. That was the entire reason he didn’t want them to date in the first place.

“I’m not human,” He finally said. The words felt dirty, unclean, soiled, as they passed from his lips. He winced. “I’m not human,” He repeated.

“It’s not like you’re a dog or something, dude. I’m not like, poodle-fucking here. It’s okay.”

Moses’ lips twitched. “Is that the criteria? As long as I’m bipedal and humanoid, it’s all okay?”

“Pretty much. Plus, you know, I love you.”

“You don’t-”

“I do.”

Rich pulled himself to his feet. Moses remained seated. “Face it,” Rich said, hands on his hips. “You want this. I want this. We want this. I...shit.” He looked down. “My timing might be bad.”

“Pardon?”

“Are you okay?”

“Of course I’m okay. It’s not your job to worry about me.” Moses’ voice was still raw, scratchy, from his tears. He rubbed his eyes on the back of his arm wearily. “I’m perfectly fine.”

“It hurts. Knowing you’re hurting. And it’s not wrong for me to want to be by your side, making it better. It just isn’t. Even if it’s totally gay.”

“The gayness is the lowest point on the reasons it wouldn’t work, Rich. I’m not real-”

“You are real.” Rich insisted. “You are. You’re real, and you’re really fucking fine, and I like you a lot.”

“I like you a lot too,” Moses sighed.

There was no fighting this, was there? The moment they’d gotten into bed together, he’d been lost. Or, rather, it had been before that. The moment Rich had activated him, the moment he’d first made his initial assessments, it had all been forgone then, hadn’t it?

Moses looked at Rich. Bouncing on his feet. He sighed, and held out his hand, allowing Rich to take it, shaking it as though they were making a business deal.

“Alright, fine,” Moses said, weary and broken, but already more whole than he’d been since the moment of his conception. “Boyfriends it is.”

“Boyfriends it is!” Rich chirped happily. He bounced on his heels. “And all it took was a fucking panic attack...shit, I’m such an asshole for taking advantage of you. Maybe this really is a bad idea.”

It was his chance to back out. Moses kept his grip on Rich’s hand. Rich’s small, vulnerable hand, clasped within the danger that was Moses, out of date and damaged and faulty. He held onto his hand, following the line up his wrist, his arm, his shoulder, until he reached his anxious little face.

“Sorry,” Moses said cheerily, tugging on Rich until he tumbled into his lap. Rich squirmed around, straddling him, as their lips hovered mere inches away from each other. “We already shook on it.”


	10. Chapter 10

Seven movies may have been more than a little excessive, but Rich had been so excited as they’d poured over the Redbox selection, that Moses had been unable to say no.

Not that he’d ever been good about saying no before. And he was all the worse now, now that they were together.

Together.

Moses felt a hitch in his heartbeat, until he reminded himself any sensation of a pulse was completely manufactured, artificial, an illusion. He still needed to remember his lane.

Even as Rich flung the movies on the coffee table, with excessive takeout containers of fried rice and sweet and sour chicken littering every inch, his small fingers seeking out Mo’s. Their hands locked, as Rich pulled Moses to the couch, thoroughly cleaned of sand by this point.

Rich flopped backwards, pulling Moses on top of him. The sensation was muted, dulled, a distinct decision to lessen the perception of his weight to size ratio. If Moses actually felt as heavy as a real human of his height would feel, surely he’d squish Rich completely.

He straddled him, placing his hands on Rich’s shoulders. Rich laughed brightly, his own hands moving to cup Moses’ ass.

“Now this is the kind of view I live for, bro.”

“It might limit your ability to watch the movies.”

“Yeah, maybe. My mountain boyfriend. The empire state building of baes. The Jupiter of lovers.” Rich squeezed Moses’ ass, and Moses squirmed despite himself. He rubbed against Rich’s body, the feeling of his body heat hypnotic, desirable. He dropped his hands from Rich’s shoulders, pressing them against his chest, flattened by his binder.

“Let me guess,” Rich grinned. “You think I should take this off. For ‘safety’.” He blushed sharply, voice dropping to a tone of near self-consciousness. “I mean, you know, I look better with it on though.”

“Richard.” Moses slid his hands underneath his shirt, pressing his fingers against his abs. He ran them over the ridges, the sharp muscle, teasing over his bellybutton just to feel the way Rich squirmed for him. “You look more than desirable no matter how you present yourself. Binder or no binder. I allow some of your worse habits only because I know it helps you psychologically, but medically, it’s actually much healthier to…” He trailed off. “I could go on, but perhaps we should, ah, Commence Kissing Protocol.” He said the last three words in a robotic tone, just to get Rich to laugh.

It worked, Rich giggling brightly. And it was worth it. All it cost was Moses’ momentarily delusion that he was something close to human.

It was only fair, though, if he was going to put him through the discomfort of taking off a piece of clothing that made Rich feel as though he ‘passed’ better.

Rich moved his lips over Moses’. His fingers slipped into the back pockets of Moses’ pants, all the better to cup his ass. Maintaining the sensation was a bit harder like this, but it must have been adequate, given the way that Rich sighed in satisfaction against his mouth. Moses pressed closer to Rich, pushing him into the couch as their kiss deepened, until their tongues glossed together. He sucked on Rich’s tongue slowly, teasing, until Rich retreated, drawing back with another small laugh.

“Sorry,” Rich tittered. “I’m not laughing at you. I’m just really fuckin happy, bro.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re my boyfriend. My _boyfriend_. For real now.” He scraped his fingers through hair that was already sticking out of place. He grasped the bandana he’d placed earlier on his head, tossing it across the room, then once more placing his hands back onto Moses’ ass. “You have no idea how, like, fucking elite status perfect you are either, do you?”

“I’m certainly not.”

“Oh, you certainly are, you bastard. Where’s that cockiness you used to have?”

“I’m superior and well crafted in a lot of ways, Richard, but as a lover? I…” He tapered off, his look growing more amused, confident. “Well, I certainly know my way around your body. However.” he started to stand, bringing himself to his feet and forcing Rich’s hands to fall off of his body. “I think it may be best for us to take this slow, don’t you?”

Rich huffed. “Slow.” He sneered. He reached down, grasping his shirt and pulling it overhead, until his top half was only clad in his binder. He trailed his fingers down over his chest, over his stomach, until he reached the waistline of his jeans. He popped the button, undoing the zipper next, pulling the front of his pants open to expose the ivory of his briefs. Moses could make out the bulge of his packer, nestled cleanly within the confines.

He swallowed, an involuntary reaction, his fingers giving a hungry twitch at the sight of Rich’s impulsive desires.

“You’ve already broken the seal, dude. Popped the cherry. Literally. So, like, what’s the harm?”

Moses tried to think of all the reasons they shouldn’t. But it wasn’t as though they had any candles around that they might knock over. And he couldn’t stop staring, his eyes continuing to zone in between Rich’s legs, spread shamelessly as he began to flick his thumb against the elastic of his underwear.

“I want to properly seduce you,” Moses said softly, even as he licked his lips. His gaze was drawn upward, as Rich grasped his binder. He peeled it upward, his breasts bouncing free, nipples hard from the chill of air conditioning and his arousal. “I want you to know I desire you for reasons beyond your body, as perfect as it is.”

“Objectify me,” Rich whined. “Take me, fuck me, make me your bitch.”

There was a moment of silence.

Before Rich clarified, “But like, your boy bitch. Bitch boy. I...shit, when I say things like that, it makes me sound...sound…”

His voice wavered, his arms dropped and curling around himself in an attempt to cover his breasts. Rich’s expression closed off, though a brief flicker of anxiety had been visible before he shut everything down.

It was a whiplash, abrupt, and Moses reeled with it. “Sweetheart,” He said despite himself. Perhaps it was too gentle a petname. “Sunshine. You didn’t sound feminine in the slightest, I promise.”

“I’m not worried about that,” Rich lied, his voice squeaking as frustrated tears began to cloud his vision. “Fuck. But now I do. Fuck. _Fuck_. Why...I wanted to have a good date!”

“We are having a good date.” Moses wanted to grab one of the blankets and drape it around Rich’s body for comfort. But he didn’t have enough physical substance to work it, to be able to manipulate it over him. Another way he was an inadequate substitute for a real, organic partner.

Did Rich’s dysphoria trigger his own?

Was it cheap and inauthentic to call his own feelings dysphoria? He was certain it was, an offensive half-truth that trivialized what an actual person went through. What did he know of dysphoria, outside of what he experienced through Rich’s perspective?

Why did he always get so caught up in his own head? Now wasn’t about him. Rich was distressed. Rich needed comfort.

Moses settled down in the cushion beside him, tenderly rubbing his thigh. “This is a good date.”

“No it’s not. I’m being so selfish. You can’t even eat, and you already know how all these movies end probably, and I can’t even make a joke without feeling gross about my body, and you asked to take things slow and I forced myself on you, I’m basically a rapist, and-”

Moses pressed his lips against Rich’s. For a moment, Rich continued his speech, his lips fumbling about upon Moses’ before he got a hold of himself and settled himself into silence. Moses held his face in his hands as he kissed him, feeling his body shiver with lack of breath before he finally let him go.

“I only want to take things slow for your sake. If it were only my benefit, you’d be naked and available every moment of the day.”

“I could do that,” Rich said dreamily. 

He couldn’t, Moses knew. Rich still grew uncomfortable in the shower for prolonged periods of time. He still got uneasy walking around in his bathing suit. Nudity was not something he’d ever fully become accustomed to, no matter how often his skinnydipped.

But it was sweet, that he was willing to offer it, and in such a delighted tone no less.

“Yes, but then you’d never get to wear all those hideous tank tops you bought.”

“Hideous? Dude, they’re fucking sweet! They’re gonna show off my guns and the flames are fucking sick.”

“You’re going to look like even more of a tourist.”

“You’re the one who wanted to look at the souvenir shops,” Rich pointed out.

“Yes, because I thought you might want to pick something up for Jake.”

“Oh. Yeah, that’d be a good idea.” They’d already begun assembling a care package for him, at Rich’s insistence. Moses had guided him through baking a few basic recipes.

He’d watched longingly as Rich mixed and measured and doled out portions to the cookie sheets. He’d ached with a longing for an activity he’d never, ever get to fully immerse himself in. Rich had paused, looking at him worriedly, but Moses had been quick to reassure him. This was fine. Everything was fine.

And everything was fine. Moses was happy, here in Malibu with Rich safe and smiling and his.

“You know what’s fucked though?” Rich said, just as Moses was about to suggest he start eating. As though he were wired into Moses’ thoughts, Rich leaned forward, grabbing an eggroll and stuffing half of it into his mouth. His words were muffled as he spoke. “‘m st’l fk’n hor’y.”

“Pardon?”

Rich gulped, allowing the food to settle down his gullet, before he clarified, “I’m still fucking horny.” He tugged his binder back into place, the half of an eggroll he’d yet to eat tucked between his teeth. He pulled the eggroll back out, beginning to button his pants with one hand. “Like, what I’d give right now for a fingerbang.”

Moses scooted closer. His hand moved, sliding over Rich’s denim-clad inner thigh. He pressed deeper, until he reached that delicious v where his legs met, cupping his cunt outside of his clothing. He forced himself to radiate heat, to exude humanity in the wake of his own insubstantial form.

“Holy shit,” Rich breathed. “Holy shit!” He repeated with more gusto, as Moses began to tug on his jeans. Rich lifted his hips, dropping his own hands down to help undress the lower half of his body. Once he was down to his briefs, jeans bunched up in a wad around his ankles, Moses began to trace the outline of his packer, shifting and moving it against him in a way that left Rich whining from the teasing sensation.

“I could use my mouth, if you’d rather,” Moses purred. He leaned in, his lips nestling against Rich’s neck. His hair fell in sheets over him, tickling Rich’s skin. 

From his position, he could feel Rich shake his head. “No, not yet. Just...just want your fingers in me. Please?”

“Most boys aren’t satisfied with handjobs alone.”

Handjobs. He knew that Rich’s mind would reel with it, the need to argue that what they were doing wasn’t a handjob, that handjobs required dicks.

Moses placed his hand over the back of Rich’s hand, and guided it down. He slipped Rich’s fingers into the elastic of his own underwear, and aided Rich in pulling his clothing off, peeling it away from his packer, which tumbled to the ground. He felt the fabric of his underwear stick, popping loose with some force, from the wetness of his arousal.

Moses could have teased him more. But he slipped his hand between his legs, brushed briefly against his lips, then moved his legs apart. 

He grasped his clit between thumb and forefinger, swollen and throbbing.

“But it’s such a gorgeous cock to jerk off, I can’t say I blame you for wanting to feel my hands on it.”

“Cock,” Rich repeated in awe. His body shook as Moses gave his clit another squeeze. His naked ass wriggled helplessly against the couch, and Moses smirked in satisfaction, stroking his clit until he earned another set of keening moans from his boyfriend.

But Rich hadn’t said he wanted to get his clit worshipped. 

He said he wanted to be penetrated.

Moses used his fingers to hold him open, staring down at his cunt in ravenous hunger. His own cock, a simulation though it may have been, ached within his pants. He ignored it, ignored the primal urge to rub himself, to pull himself free, to mount Rich right on the Dillinger couch. He had to be the mature one, the one with some patience.

It would feel so much better, if they paced themselves.

He moved his other hand forward finally, teasing it back and forth against Rich’s entrance. He felt his body quiver with the action, fluttering muscle aching to be filled and used.

“Ah,” Rich sighed. “Mo, come on, man. I’m leaking all over the couch. Give it to me.”

“Say please.”

“Please?”

It wasn’t good enough. Moses managed to keep his expression stern as he fixed his electric gaze upon Rich.

Rich blushed. “Please, sir? Please, I want your fingers inside me. I want you to fuck me with your fingers. I wanna cum on your hand, and I want...f-fuck, I can’t, um, I can’t fucking...please?”

“Hm,” Moses considered it. “I suppose you’ve been a very good boy, Richard. My very very good boy. Such a pretty, obedient little whore deserves nice things, don’t you think?”

“Bro, did you just call me a whore?”

But the question was unanswered, as Moses pressed his middle finger inside Rich’s body. The feeling of his body heat was mesmerizing, mouth watering, and he had to break his gaze upon him in order to steal another kiss. He wanted to taste, and if Rich didn’t want him to use his mouth on his cunt, then he’d need a taste of his mouth instead.

He drew away from him, his finger moving within him, thrusting in, then curling on the way out, only to repeat the action. He watched Rich’s expression grow hazy, a stupidly aroused smile upon his lips.

“That feels so fucking good, Mo,” He nearly purred. “Holy shit.”

Moses drew his finger out, only to fill him with both index and middle finger this time. His fingers gave a playful stretch, just to feel Rich jerk and gasp against the couch. He pressed them back together, pressing inward, prodding up against him until Rich started to whimper.

“Ohhh...fuck, call me a whore all you want, sir, that’s the fucking golden ticket right now. Call me fucking Mike TV or who the fuck ever, because I got a motherfucking golden ticket, and it’s called Mo’s Magic Fingers Incorporated.”

Moses’ pop culture sensors began to tick Willy Wonka factoids, but he was so enraptured by Rich’s body that it was easy to ignore them.

Rich’s body rose from the couch as he came, arching forcibly and grinding against Moses’ fingers. Hot tears poured down his face, drool wetting his lips, and his thighs were sticky and soaked with the intensity of his own arousal.

He was a mess. A delicious, beautiful mess. Moses throbbed painfully for him, but he dared not point that out. He drew his fingers out, and wished he had a physical form capable of capturing Rich’s wetness, if only so he could force him to lick his digits clean. It’d be a pointless endeavor now, though. Rich wouldn’t even taste anything.

Rich panted heavily against the couch, as Moses rubbed his legs fondly. He moved over him, rolling his body close, his lips traveling over his neck, over his sharp jawline. He lingered against the corner of his mouth, until Rich turned his head, caught his lips with his own.

Rich tangled his fingers into Moses’ hair, carefully grasping at his long locks. He tugged on them, pulling Mo’s head back. Mo gasped, as Rich took the opportunity to bite his neck. Were Moses human, he was certain he’d have felt himself beginning to bruise, a hickey beginning to form, from the sensation.

The knowledge that he wasn’t was uncomfortable, but not uncomfortable enough to stop the aching throb between his legs. Growing. Growing. The more Rich pulled his hair, the more he bit his neck, and god, how could anything feel so good? So right? He sighed, a dizzy little sound, as Rich sucked on his collarbone. Rich shifted about, draping his thigh over his lap, until he was finally pulling himself onto Moses. He straddled him, grinding down against his erection.

And that was it. That was enough.

Everything grew hotter than even the deepest anxiety fantasies about Rich’s eventual fate. White-hot, blinding, as Moses gripped Rich’s ass, desperate for any sort of stability. He rocked up into him, before the wet sensation of his own orgasm began to pool over his crotch.

Sticky, humiliating strands of cum stained the insides of his pants. 

Why was he even designed to feel that? It certainly wasn’t for Rich’s benefit, though judging by the frenzied, starved way he continued to bite and suck and kiss upon his neck, he’d certainly become aware of it. Moses could feel Rich’s affection rising, could feel his fascination and love at the fact that Moses, his powerful, super cool, ultra knowledgeable, picture of masculinity super quantum unit intel processor, had just cum in his own pants. Cum in his pants like a pubescent virgin.

Moses groaned, a combination of post-coital pleasure and deep rooted shame. His hands released Rich, only to raise to press against his own face.

“Can we pretend that didn’t happen?”

“Not a fucking chance.” Rich smirked. “Damn, dude. You must really have a crush on me.” His grip loosened on Moses’ hair, and Mo lifted his head to catch another kiss.

He laughed huskily. “I suppose, maybe just a bit of one.”

“Fuckin nice, dude.”

Moses wriggled uncomfortably in his shame. Nice. 

Rich was still nearly completely naked, seated in his lap. Even if Moses had utterly humiliated himself, in a situation like this, how could he disagree?

“Nice indeed.”


	11. Chapter 11

Routines were not only a necessity to maintain Rich’s rickety mental health, but they were a design of Moses’ nature. Finding the pathways that would lead to the best possible outcome, the best possible future.

He’d yet to really piece together which way he needed to go in order to make things right and safe and true. But he knew the superficial things that needed to be done to ensure that, once he did find that path, they’d be on the right stage for a truly satisfactory, happy life. 

Rich had been dealt a losing hand from the beginning. Moses needed to do everything he could to stack the deck in his favor, to cheat their way to safe keeping and genuine joy.

And so they fell into their routines as summer turned to autumn. Scoping out school only alerted Moses to more dangers, renegade forest fires overtaking the building, or fire by way of ammunition, a lone wolf home grown terrorist, mowing everyone and everything down. School, he decided, was a no go. At least until his quantum processors stopped shrieking about flaws and death and devastation.

God, it was almost worth the idea of upgrading, if only it meant a little peace and quiet from those warning lights.

Whatever the case, school was out. And so they found themselves enrolling into online classes, forging paperwork and signatures, handing over funds, and getting Rich set up with a proper laptop. Moses insisted on keeping him on a routine of it, regular hours.

Well, he’d been resolute in those convictions at first, anyway.

“Mo,” Rich whined, snapping the lid of the laptop shut with a click of determination. “I can’t do this anymore. Algebra? More like, you know, something that rhymes with Algebra but means gay. Algeblowmycock or something.”

“That isn’t a rhyme,” Moses drew himself away from his perch at the window. Sometimes he wondered if his views were genuine, if he were actually seeing the outside world, or if he was only perceiving what he knew Rich knew of the outside world. Considering too deeply the ramifications of his existence not only left him uncomfortable and itchy, but also made him feel strangely stupid. How did he have so few answers about his own abilities?

Was that the humanity in him? He wanted to push Rich to study some more philosophy, perhaps in the next semester’s worth of online courses. What it meant to be alive. What it meant to be human. Interesting, purely from an academic line of thinking surely.

He didn’t dare press too much to really analyze his motivations for wanting to explore this pathway.

He pulled himself closer to Rich, setting his hand gently against his shoulder. “Can’t focus?” He questioned.

“Not really.” Rich rolled his head back, popping his vertebrae with a little groan. “This is kinda, like...I don’t know. I don’t miss school, but it’s kinda tedious, just sitting here without, like, other students.”

“I could dress like a schoolgirl, if it would help.”

The joke landed a little too well. Rather than laughing, Rich’s eyes sparkled, a wicked little grin playing on his lips.

“And you could put your hair into pigtails, yeah?”

“I would never.” Moses combed his fingers notably through his hair, pulled back into a ponytail for streamlined style and ease. And because he liked it that way.

Was that allowed? Was he supposed to like his own sense of style? Wasn’t he supposed to cater to his host? Should he have buzzed his hair, put on a cut off tank top and cargo shorts, and ruined his posture to mirror Rich’s sense of machismo bravado?

It was a sense of style Moses had crafted for Rich, truthfully. Many weeks they’d spent together, assembling pieces for his new wardrobe. Working on the best ways to walk, to carry himself, until now it came second nature to Rich. 

So why did the idea of dressing the same make Moses shiver, when seeing Rich clad in such a manor made him beam with pride?

It couldn’t be a sense of self. Because Moses did not have a self. He was nothing but engineering and programming. He was nothing. 

**_Upgrade required. Please standby._ **

Ignore.

“It’d be cute though, man. Fuck. But you’d be a real hot teacher, you know?” Rich hopped to his feet. “Bend me over the desk and teach me what a bad boy I am, professor.”

In all the infinite universes, surely there was at least one where Moses was a teacher, and Rich was his student.

Did those universes end in tragedy too? Did Rich eventually succumb to fire? Was it Moses’ fault? 

...why was Moses so certain that flames and fire were a certainty here? It hadn’t happened yet. It may never happen. It would never happen. He needed to grasp onto that attitude of absolutes. He would undo it before it could come to be, and it was as simple as that. He would fix it before there was anything that needed to be fixed.

He would protect him.

He would always protect him.

“That would be a violation of several academic codes.”

“Boo, don’t make it all realistic and shit. Obviously I wouldn’t really wanna bang a teacher. I just wanna bang you.”

“Not yet.”

It could have been an indication that it was a bad time, due to this being their designated study time. But truth be told, aside from the fingerfuck, and kissing, they’d yet to do anything more.

Moses wasn’t sure if he could allow himself to indulge in any more.

It was bad enough that he was allowing this relationship to blossom to begin with.

But maybe it was unhealthy to continue dwelling on that. Why regret, when he’d already agreed? And why regret, when it was all a superficial sensation anyway? He didn’t feel anything but genuine joy, giddy and alive and true, when he thought about the fact that Rich was his, only his.

He felt bad for it, though. He’d urged him to run away. Urged him into online schooling. Was he sequestering him away in an unhealthy manner? Rich needed companionship. They needed to add that to their routine. Maybe join a book club, or a gym. They’d been working out together in the house, not even counting Rich’s nearly constant nightly routine of swimming. He needed to maintain his physique, do everything he could to cultivate his muscles and masculinity. Moses’ manipulations internally of Rich’s chemicals and hormones could only account for so much, after all.

And god did he look so cute when he was sweaty and stimulated. 

Routines really were the best for everyone and everything. 

There was so much they still needed to figure out though. Socialization. New hobbies. A path for his approaching adulthood. Date nights.

Moses tried to tell himself that it was all for Rich.

But some of it was for himself too, truth be told.

“So when?” Rich stretched his arms over his head. “I really wanna fuck again. Don’t you?”

“Of course I do. But we rushed things the first time.”

“Rushed?” Rich snorted. “We fucked from dusk until dawn, dude. You took your sweet time working me over.”

Moses felt the pixels on his face glow red, felt the lick of embarrassed glee trickling from his face down his neck, disappearing into the collar of his white suit. “I mean we could have timed it better.”

“Seemed like perfect timing to me. Plus like, it sorta lead to this, right? A new life? I don’t regret it. Do you?”

“No. But I want our next time to be perfect.”

Rich rolled his eyes. “Dude. You think, like, way too much.”

“I’m a squip. Of course I do.”

He heard the bitterness in his own voice only after he analyzed Rich’s expression. What was that look on his face? He studied it intently.

Shock. Confusion. Worry. A dangerous mixture of emotions mixed all over Rich’s tiny little features. He blinked, once, twice, before Moses watched his lips press together, a silent consideration of what to say, before he finally communicated.

“You always sound, like, super pissy when you say stuff like that.”

“Pissy?”

“Yeah. Like, I don’t know. Like it doesn’t sit well with you or something.”

“You should be studying.” Moses moved over. “I can’t let my fellow computer go neglected.”

“See? There it was again!”

“What?”

“The pissiness!”

Moses chuckled, strumming his fingers over the laptop. He didn’t have enough surface tension to actually touch it, to interact with it fully, outside of tapping into the wifi and manipulating the connection that way. But the physical components, those were outside of his reach.

Everything was outside of his reach.

Ah. Maybe he felt it too. The bitterness. The longing. The anger.

The “pissiness”, as Rich so eloquently put it.

“I’m not pissy, Richard. I’m just pointing out facts of existence.”

Rich stared at him. A long, pointed, thoughtful look.

“You’re, like, totally-”

“Pissy?”

“Upset. Uncomfortable. Sad. I don’t, like, I don’t fucking know. I’m not a goddamned word messiah or whatever. But you’re, like,” Rich glanced upward thoughtfully, before chiming, “Dysphoric.”

Dysphoric.

_Dysphoria is a profound state of unease or dissatisfaction. In a psychiatric context, dysphoria may accompany depression, anxiety, or agitation._

Moses didn’t bother shushing his own definition software this time. He’d known the meaning prior, of course.

His host was painted with the definition of the word. Dysphoria. Profound uneasiness and dissatisfaction. Depression. Anxiety. Agitation. Every fucking word, plastered all over Rich.

If any of it applied to Moses, it was only through osmosis, through an absorption of Rich’s own psychiatric issues and maladjustments.

Moses was a computer.

Moses was a fucking computer.

He was a computer, and nothing more.

**_Upgrade required_ **

He was just a fucking computer, a fucking computer, and he had no soul and no personality and no issues and he certainly did not know what dysphoria was in any level more personal than that which was applied to his host. He was just a fucking computer and his mission was to serve his host and

**_Upgrade required_ **

That was it. That was it. He was just a computer.

He was just-

“That’s ridiculous.”

“Holy shit.” Rich whispered. “I’m totally right.”

One of the first things Moses had noticed about Rich was how genre savvy he was. How quickly he’d picked up on the science fiction aspects of Moses’ existence. How their dynamic would work, how their routines would factor in--always with routines, always always with the routines. How smart Rich had been, even in the beginning.

It was funny, how much Moses had tried to stifle that smartness in order to help Rich fit in with his classmates. It was funny, and it was criminal, and it was unnerving now, as he felt himself being opened up as easily as the books that Rich devoured with every trip they took to the library.

“That’s ridiculous!” Moses repeated, more emphatically. He watched as Rich blinked at him, those wide set eyes staring at him with a sense of wonder, comprehension, compassion, empathy. It wasn’t deserved or earned or necessary and it made Moses twitch. His hands moved over his lapels, straightening what didn’t need to be straightened. “Dysphoria is a _human_ ailment, not something I would be-”

“You feel totally displaced and wrong, don’t you?”

“No!”

Displacement. Like he’d been knocked out of orbit with himself. Like he was struggling to catch up with the mechanisms of his own design. Struggling to catch up to a shell he didn’t quite want to climb back into.

Wrong. Like he’d been shaped from stardust that was meant to inhabit something more organic, a carbon base that had somehow been malformed into chemicals and software.

Fuck.

“Mo.” Rich stepped closer to him. He slipped his fingers into Moses’ touch. Hands that were too translucent and unsteady. He clung to him. “Tell me. Please.”

“...I don’t know.” He stroked his thumb over Rich’s fingers. “I don’t know what you want me to tell you.”

Except he was in Rich’s head. He was in Rich’s head, surrounded by Rich’s thoughts, and maybe that was all this was. Just an influence of his host’s beliefs, but it didn’t make him feel any better about himself. It didn’t make him feel any more comfortable.

It didn’t make him feel any less-

“Dysphoria is for humans.”

“Do you want to be human, Mo?”

Moses pulled his hands out of Rich’s grip. He grimaced, moving his hands to his suit jacket, then to his hair. He adjusted the tie, as though his hair actually needed to be physically restrained. It wasn’t real though. None of it was real.

He fixed it all the same.

“I don’t understand the question.”

Rich smiled, a crooked turn of his lips. “You’re being a fucker, dude. Of course you understood it. Do you want to be human? Do you...do you feel like you’re human? I, uh,” He laughed a little, falling back on earlier conversations. “My word banks are a little out of date.”

Moses smiled. He had said that, hadn’t he? Or at least something similar. Back when he’d first assessed Rich. Before he’d fully caught up to life as a living organism.

Except he wasn’t living.

Except he wasn’t anything.

Except-

“Yes.”

The confession hung between them, haphazard and clumsy and unsteady.

Moses could practically taste the ash in the air. Was he dooming Rich that much further, by putting this element of himself out there? It was unnecessary, to confess anything of this nature. Completely irrelevant to Rich’s livelihood, to know any sort of misaligned elements of Moses’ clumsy circuitry.

And indeed it would do no good at all. How could it help, for Rich to find out that Moses was broken and out of date and wrong? Surely he’d want to force him to upgrade. Surely he’d want to fix him. Replace him. Throw him away.

But even as the fears gripped at him, they just as suddenly slipped away. 

That wasn’t Rich.

Rich, who looked at Moses as though he were the very center of his solar system. As if Moses were the sunshine in this situation, as if he were anything other than a minor moon, flickering about for just a glimpse of that precious sunlight.

“Well alright,” Rich said. He smiled. “You’re human then. Like, trans-human.”

“Richard,” Mo sighed. “That’s offensive. And degrading-”

“Oh, I’m not trying to-”

“Not degrading to me. It’s degrading to those with actual dysphoria. Actual transgender individuals. I’m not...I’m not about to claim those terms for myself, when I don’t even exist.”

“You do exist, though, dude.” Rich said, insistent and wide eyed and bright. “You exist. But you don’t exist happily. You don’t exist, like, the way that’ll make you feel fulfilled.”

The conversation squirmed deep into Moses’ body. He hugged himself, shrugging as his eyes hit the floor.

“But hey. _Hey_.” Rich placed his hand against Moses’ cheek. “It doesn’t have to stay like that, is the good thing. It can get better. I’m gonna help it be better.”

“How?” 

Rich shrugged. “No fucking clue. But hey, if my 4 foot nothing ass can walk around like the big cock on campus-”

“You’re not that small.”

“-then we can take you from techno-twink to big bara human in fucking no time flat, right?”

“It’s not that easy.”

But Rich spoke so confidently that, for just a moment, Moses wondered if perhaps it could be.


	12. Chapter 12

“So it’s obviously not as simple as me buying you a fake cock and a binder. But like, what are the things that make you uncomfortable the most?”

Moses expected to play coy. To downplay. He had every intention of lowering the amount of triggers and disappointments in his life.

“Everything.”

Rich’s eyes widened. His lips parted, as though he were trying to catch breath which had become too scarce.

“Everything?”

“Well...not you. Not you, Richard, please understand. Being with you, being able to help you, it gives me so much joy. I just…” He hesitated. And then grimaced once again. 

There seemed to be a lot of grimacing, these last few days.

“...I wish I could help you as a partner, an equal, a-”

“Person?”

“Person. Yes.”

“Yeah, I get that, I think. It’s like, I mean, I like when you touch me and stuff, even with how much I hate my body, but I want you to be touching me as a dude.”

“Which I do.”

“And I see you as a dude too. A person-dude I mean. So I guess that’s squared.” They shared a smile, as Rich twiddled his pencil around his fingers, taking a few scribbles on his notepad. “But everything. Okay. So you just, like, feel all around wrong and fucked then?”

“I guess you could say that. My programming...and even saying that feels gross...but my programming compels me towards certain actions that a human wouldn’t take. Predictive pathways-” Fire, destruction death--no, no, that wasn’t what he wanted to focus on, downplay it- “-like I cannot even watch a movie without immediately knowing the ending.”

“Like, internal wikipedia?”

“Something like that.”

“Sounds shitty.”

Moses smiled, placing his palm against Rich’s knee. “You don’t have to lie. You think it sounds awesome.”

“Well, yeah, but like, there’s a lot of kinky fucking wikipedia articles out there.”

“You’re thinking of Urban Dictionary.”

“Nuh uh! I used to look at the dirty drawing on wikipedia and get a funny feeling in my belly. And by my belly, I mean my pussy.”

Moses snorted. “Yes yes, I’m well aware.” He sighed, smile dropping. “After all, I’m inside your brain.”

Once the door had been opened, it became so much easier to speak about it.

They’d drift back onto it, Moses finding himself more hyperfocused on the discomfort the more RIch allowed him to detail it. Pointing out the little things, the small aggressions that made him aware of his own limitations. The lack of a shadow. The way he couldn’t grab the remote and change the channel when they were cuddled together. The fact he would longingly watch the way Rich would wriggle and shake his limbs when his feet or hands would fall asleep after prolonged rest in one position.

The bigger things. The lack of any future, together and individually. The lack of any surprise. The lack of blissful ignorance.

“...and I suppose it’d be nice to actually have friends.”

“Oh. Oh, shit, dude, yeah, that’s a good point!” Rich paused mid-drink of his milkshake. “You really could use some friends!”

“Hm? Oh, no, Richard, no, I meant you.”

“Me?”

“Yes, you.” Moses collected Rich’s face between his palms. He kissed him softly, and though the electric charge of the action only reminded him of his own mechanical parts, it also felt so warm and sweet that he couldn’t say he minded it.

Did that make him a fraud? To find any enjoyment in any of this existence?

 

Did it really matter? It was all hypothetical venting anyway. Sure, Rich talked about fixing things, but there really wasn’t anything to fix. Moses was designed as adequately as he could be expected to be designed. Eventually, he’d have to upgrade, and maybe it would fix these feelings outright.

But regardless, Rich had no way of actually shaping how this would go. The only fate Moses needed to change was the one that demanded Rich would eventually die horribly. Everything else was thought experiments and nothing else.

The topic of friends continued to crop up, a debate among two beings about which one was more intrinsically lonely. And though he had a feeling that Rich might have been winning--after all, Rich still had his phone calls with Jake, even if in person he seemed to be short on actual companionship outside of the voice in his head--because Moses was, by design, completely solitary, it didn’t stop Moses from fighting.

It was much like the mathematical games he’d sometimes play while Rich slept. It wasn’t a particularly fun exercise, but it kept him sharp, to play and solve. Or, in this case, to debate and pseudo-argue.

It probably could have stayed like that. A purely academic exercise of who held the monopoly on loneliness, and inquiries on how to fix it that neither would make any move to actually breech (suggestions such as online correspondence, or joining external clubs, or reaching out to other people with squips, though Moses and Rich both shied away from this possibility rather quickly).

But then Rich got sick.

“I’m fine, Mo.” Rich coughed, curling up into a tight little ball on the sofa. He spent so often out in the living room, curled on the couch rather than in the bedroom.

Moses looked over him. Scanned him, taking in his vital signs, his elevated heartbeat, his breaking 103 fever. Likely a strand of influenza, likely not serious, but he felt his body flurry with anxiety all the same from it.

Because a fever wasn’t so different from fire. A human body could only withstand minor changes in its equilibrium before it would combust and break. 

Maybe he’d been looking at his predictions all wrong.

Maybe it wasn’t an external fire that was destined to topple the empire after all. Maybe it was a viral pathogen, something invading and tearing Rich down to ashes and ashes.

Moses placed his palm against the back of Rich’s head.

_“I know, Millie-bug, I know,” Elizabeth tutted softly. “I know you feel bad.”_

_“Mama,” Emily croaked. She scooted closer to her mother, nestling her head against her knee. Her hair flopped limply into her face as she coughed weakly._

Moses blinked, as Rich scooted over to him, resting his head against his lap. “This sucks,” Rich mumbled.

Moses placed his fingers against Rich’s hair. The red stripe was beginning to fade again. They’d need to dye it again, or perhaps choose a new color. He smiled faintly, as Rich turned his head, to brush a kiss against Mo’s fingertips.

“It’ll pass,” Mo insisted.

“I know. But it sucks. I wish I had, like, a sprite or something. Or 7-up. Or, like...fuck, like, if Mountain Dew turns you on, does other stuff, like, fuck you up?”

“Alcohol affects me.”

“I know. But like, if I down a sprite, does that…” He trailed off, a look of intense guilt beginning to glide over Rich’s flushed features. “I’m sorry, Mo. That was super fucking insensitive. I’m such a fucking cunt-ass douchebag bitch.”

“That’s a little excessive.”

“I’m a total fucking dick though.” Rich curled in on himself as he started to cough, hair flopping over his face. His eyes screwed up and his lips contorted into a look of discomfort as the cough tore at his sore throat. “Fuck,” he wheezed after, flopping limply against Moses’ lap after.

Moses felt a rush of guilt for how much he enjoyed the position. How nice it felt, the pressure of Rich’s weight against himself. It felt real, even if it was an illusion. He wondered if the sickness was making him more aware of sensation, if it was affecting Rich’s perception in such a way that made Moses feel more corporeal.

He wondered why he had to pick at it so much, question so much, because it always had a way of ruining what had been a nice sensation, making it too clinical. All a matter of synapses and technological manipulations.

“No,” Moses finally chose to answer. “No, the only sodas that have an effect on my being are…”

He wasn’t supposed to tell him.

He felt a wave of electricity course over himself, a punishing jolt of pain that he wasn’t altogether certain he was supposed to even fully acknowledge as pain.

“Mountain dew?” Rich supplied.

“Yes. And, ah, the off switch, of course.”

Rich looked up at him quizzically. “Is it a secret or something?”

“Red.”

He felt another shock, involuntary. And he worried that it would pass into Rich’s body. He bundled it down, containing the agony of it deep within his core, as he kept his expression neutral.

“What the fuck is red? Oh, like Code Red?”

“No, it’s a discontinued regional variant.”

“Oh. Green for go. Red to stop. That’s kinda cute, I guess.” Rich shrugged a little. He closed his eyes, panting weakly as he struggled to catch his breath, as though the simple conversation had been enough to wipe him out. “Sorry. It’s, like, not uninteresting or anything, it’s just, like, I feel like the cover model for Garbage Island Quarterly or something.”

Moses weaved his fingers through Rich’s hair, damp and sticky. Rich wriggled deeper under the blanket, batting his eyes up at Moses as he smiled up at him.

“Kinda cute of you to tell me your kryptonite though.”

“Kryptonite?”

_kryptonite  
/ˈkriptəˌnīt/  
noun  
(in the fictional word of the comic book, TV, and film character Superman) an alien mineral that has the property of depriving Superman of his powers.  
something that can seriously weaken or harm a particular person or thing._

Moses let the definitions linger, though he’d already been aware of what Rich was getting at. 

“Yeah. Like I’d ever wanna turn you off.” He rubbed a tired, feverish hand along Moses’ thigh. “You know I’m always trying to turn you on.” He sighed. “But I’m sorry I brought it up. It’s rude. I don’t...like, I don’t wanna make you uncomfortable.”

“Richard. You get special privileges that no one else does.”

And so it came back around to loneliness again. Because of course Rich got special privileges, Mo thought with a pang of confused solitude.

No one else knew he existed.

Except, he supposed, for Jake Dillinger, but he only knew of him in the abstract sense, knew of him, but would never actually know him. They would never be more to each other than stories Rich would share back and forth, stories of Jake to Moses, and stories of Moses to Jake. 

It felt nice, though, to have a sense of history and belonging within the confines of Rich’s mouth. To know he would weave narratives of him. Would make him something realer, if only in the world of memory and imagination and storytelling.

Rich’s fever lingered, spiking and fading, only to rise again, throughout the night. He drifted into fitful sleep, whimpering as fever eventually lead to uncomfortable headache. The pressure of his sinuses and his pain seemed to press on all sides of Moses, despite him keeping his avatar external for comfort.

It seemed to ease Rich, when he’d wake up in a fit, to see Moses still seated with him, a hand on his shoulder or in his hair.

And he wanted to ease him.

Their options seemed uncertain, as Moses would occasionally prompt Rich upright, to waddle to the kitchen to rehydrate, to attempt to consume bland foods to keep his stomach full.

Keeping it full only to empty as the fever inevitably turned to nausea.

Rich draped himself over the toilet, heaving as bile spilled from his fever-flushed lips. Moses lingered backwards, absorbed in the sensation of excessive fever, in throbbing headache, in total gut-busting nausea. And the sense of doom, impending over all of them. Painted over their fate, a canvas of what terrible things awaited.

He should have adjusted his sensors to see what was nearer on the horizon. There was no excuse, truly, for his inability to predict what actually came to be.

“Bro?”

The voice was bright, sunny, and concerned, and Moses nearly leapt out of his own wiring, instinctively snapping from external avatar, to the dark confines of Rich’s mind. The sudden change in perspective took a moment of adjustment, as his vision went from outside himself, to taking in through Rich’s own eyes.

He watched, he felt, as Rich lifted his head from the toilet. His hands draped over the toilet seat, his eyes blinking independently of each other, watering and unfocused, as he turned his attention. “Huh?”

Rich was topless, a pair of baggy boxers clinging haphazardly to his hips. His fever left red blotches on his cheeks, his neck, his exposed chest, but in his state of sickness, he didn’t have time for modesty.

Even as Moses softly murmured, “Cross your arms over your chest, Sunshine.”

Rich obeyed, albeit very slowly.

As his eyes moved onto their visitor.

The one, the only-

“Jakey D?”


	13. Chapter 13

“I just don’t get what you’re doing here.” Rich spoke in slow, disjointed patterns. Jake had lead him from the bathroom, and helped him into a soft tank top to help him preserve his non-existent chastity. Rich swayed on his feet, standing in the bedroom, only for Jake to slide his hands around Rich’s body.

Moses had allowed his avatar out of Rich’s mind again, though he could still feel the phantom sensation of small body being lifted, settled against the rarely used bed. He watched as Rich’s eyelashes fluttered, as his pink tongue flitted over dry lips.

Jake seemed to take note of it at the same time. Placing a hand against Rich’s forehead, he murmured, “I’m gonna get you some gatorade or something, dude. Electrolytes are, like, what you’re supposed to have during a time like this.”

“I think I drank them all.”

“I’ll just go to Walgreens.”

“No, I’m fine, I...why are you here?”

Jake tilted his head. “Disney, dude.”

He laughed as Rich continued to fix him with a confused look. He reached out, rustling Rich’s hair. The motion was easy, and real, and Moses felt a note of inadequacy in his own attempts to physically comfort Rich. All at once, he realized that nothing could compare to the real tenderness of a genuine flesh and blood bond.

How did he ever think he could really compete?

Still, it wasn’t quite jealousy that he felt. In fact, if he pried at the pain he felt, it wasn’t jealousy at all--or at least not jealousy about Jake’s dynamic with Rich. He was surprised, deeply surprised, that Jake had shown up now of all times. He’d suspected it would be the case at some point, of course. They’d spoken about Disneyland before they’d left, and Jake had the means and the impulsivity to drop everything at a moment’s notice in order to make his way to Rich’s side.

Still, didn’t Jake have class to worry about? What month was it? Moses struggled, realizing only then that Rich’s fever was almost definitely causing superficial damage to his own processing units.

No wonder he hadn’t heard the car approaching, the monitors disconnect, the door unlock.

It was lucky, extremely lucky, that Jake had come. And only Jake. Anyone could have snuck up, and Moses wouldn’t have been able to see a way to stop it before it came to fruition.

And they were running low on food, on drinks. Jake was definitely a welcome sight here, in the nearly emptied manor.

“If I’d known you were coming, I’d have cleaned up all my cum rags,” Rich joked with a ragged cough, as he gestured towards the pile of tissues he’d left about the house. How were there so many kleenexes in this room, when Rich had almost exclusively slept out on the couch during this bout of illness?

Jake laughed brightly. “That’s one way to counteract a cold, I guess. Fight fire with, uh, cum.” He blushed on the last word, as though he hadn’t been raised to be quite as disgustingly foulmouthed as Rich. It didn’t fit quite as comfortably on his pristine lips. Jake sat on the bed beside Rich, rubbing his hand up and down his forearm. “I’m gonna get you something to drink now.”

“But dude. Wait. Why are you here??”

“I told you!”

“Disney. Wait. You’re serious? You like, drove cross country to go to Disneyland with me?”

“I mean, yeah, but preferably not while you’re so pukey.”

Rich blinked, wide eyed. “I’m, like, too poor.”

Jake rolled his eyes, though there was no malice or annoyance in his expression, only fond amusement. “And I’m not. What’s your point?”

“Like, I wouldn’t even know what to wear, I guess?” Rich seemed too far gone to really analyze what was being offered, or the fact that his best friend had shown up, or exactly where this was going. He flopped about the bed, and Moses’ expression mirrored Jake’s in terms of pure endearment. “I feel gross, but happy. You’re here. What the hell.”

“That’s the Dillinger charm at work. Gross happiness.”

“Nice, dude.”

Jake smiled softly. He pulled himself from the bed, moving towards the door. “I’m gonna go to Walgreens now. You need stuff. Soup and gatorade and sprite and stuff.”

“Yeah. The good shit.”

“The good shit,” Jake agreed. “But you should sleep, okay?”

He paused, hand hovering over the lightswitch. “Is, uh, your, uh, friend here?”

“Friend? Yeah, you’re clearly here.”

“No, like, uh, your _friend_. The Jesus freak.”

“Jesus freak?” Rich was too feverish for word games. Moses was too amused to bail him out.

“Moses.”

“Oh! Yeah, yeah, Mo’s here. He’s right there.” Rich gestured vaguely.

Jake looked briefly uncomfortably, glancing in the general direction Moses stood, though of course his eyes failed to pick up anything. “Right. He’ll, like, keep an eye on you while I go get stuff?”

“No,” Rich scoffed. “I’m going to run out of here and drown myself in the pool as soon as you leave, and he’s going to allow it.”

Jake grinned. “Well, I don’t know! Maybe that’s what you guys are into, who knows?”

With the lights flipped off, Jake lingered just a moment longer. “It’s...it’s really good to see you, Rich.”

“Yeah,” Rich croaked, voice raw from coughing and puking. Still, even in the dark, his smile was effervescent. Moses felt every atom in his body glow with the warmth of Rich’s compassion and joy. “It’s good to see you too.” He rubbed his eyes on the back of his hand, voice lighter. “You know, cuz I’m a thirsty bitch.”

Jake laughed. “Yeah yeah, I’ll bet. Okay, I’ll be back soon.”

He eased his way back out of the room, though the presence of his cologne and vibrant smile lingered even after he’d left.

“Did you know he was coming?” Rich questioned, already halfway to sleeping. He snuggled against the pillows, as Moses attempted to smooth out the wrinkles on the blankets.

And failed. Jake could effortlessly tuck Rich in. But Moses had to rely on other methods. He sat on the edge of the bed, sighing softly.

“No.” But even in his brief moment of frustration at his limitations, all he could see were the positive influences of this. Jake made Rich happy. Not only did he make Rich happy, but he placed Rich’s needs before his own.

Jake was Good Enough for Rich.

And so few people--truly, nobody else--were. Everyone let him down. Used him. Abused him.

He thought of Rich’s father. His brother. Surely they’d noticed he was gone, but Moses hadn’t noticed any Amber Alerts matching Rich’s description, or even his description pre-transition.

Nothing even for the missing car, let alone their missing child.

It left a bubble of nausea of his own within Moses. To know that they thought so little of him, cared so little about his disappearance. He’d done all he could to prevent Rich from noticing, from inquiring, from questioning what his father might think about his whereabouts.

It’d be so much simpler if he could just hate Mr. Goranski. If he could just hate Cody.

Or if he could just forget they’d ever existed in the first place.

Rich turned onto his side, his fingers reaching out to graze over Moses’s thigh. “Mo?”

“Yes, Rich?”

“Do you think we’re really going to go to Disneyland?”

There was so much Rich had missed out on in childhood. And theme parks were definitely high on the list. 

Theme Parks. With their expensive food and winding lines and disturbed figures in costumes.

Harmless fun.

And Jake would be there to help him.

...Theme Parks. With their freak accidents. Rollercoasters going off the tracks. Boats capsizing in electric currents. Haunted houses doused in flames.

Moses focused on Rich’s pulse, in place of his own. Rapid, but only in his sickness, not in terms of panic about a world so full of dangers. Everything, everything, threatened to hurt Rich, and Rich didn’t even seem to notice, didn’t seem to care.

He needed to keep him home, didn’t he? He needed to tell him no.

And he could foresee it. 

If he told him no, Rich would obey. He’d give him those sad green eyes, a flutter of lashes too long for his identity, and a quiet chirp of “okay.”

Okay.

He’d agree.

And he wouldn’t fight it. Wouldn’t press it. Wouldn’t try to disobey.

All Moses had to do was tell him no.

“I heard they have, like, huge turkey legs, and like, I could get those ears. I could get a pair of those ears for you! Holy shit, yeah. You’d look so cute! And we could ride...uh...fuck, I don’t even know any of the rides at Disney, but they do have rides, right? I wanna spin around until I puke.” Rich paused midway through his frantic, excited babbling, to grip his stomach and grimace. “Maybe talking about yakking right now isn’t my best idea.”

He could tell him no right now. And Rich would nod a little, and agree that it had been a stupid idea. He was too poor to enjoy Disneyland like other kids. Too trashy. Too angry and small and broken and-

“Yes,” Moses insisted. “Yes, of course you’re going to go. Jake said he was going to take you. And Jake doesn’t strike me as the type to go back on his word.”

Rich grinned. “Yeah, he’s really not. We’re gonna have so much fun.”

“Yes,” Moses smiled. He leaned forward, pressing his lips to Rich’s forehead. “Yes, you’re going to have so much fun, Sunshine.”

Rich didn’t catch the distance in his words, not right away. He laughed, thoughts of carousels and roller coasters and mouse ears playing over and over in the feverish landscape of his mind.

In fact, it wouldn’t be until his fever broke that Rich seemed to revisit the conversation at all.

Jake had returned, bringing drinks and setting cold rags against Rich’s forehead, before retiring to another room. Rich had stirred briefly to drink, before falling back into a fitful sleep. 

He awoke at three in the morning, soaked in sweat and gasping.

“You said _you_!” He nearly shouted the words.

Moses tore his gaze away from a corner of the room, where he’d been calculating the slope of the shadows. “Pardon?”

“You said you. You said _you’re_ going to have so much fun.”

“I didn’t say I’d-”

“I know you didn’t say I. You said you. You said me. I’m going to have so much fun. Me, Rich. Just me. What the hell was that phrasing about?”

Moses pet Rich’s hair. It was soaked, caked to his head, and Moses felt each individual strand crackle and bend as he moved over it.

“I do apologize,” Moses said. “You and Jake will have fun.”

“And you.”

“Ah. I see what you’re getting at now. No.”

“And _you_.” Rich snarled. Genuine anger glistened on his face, only to quickly smooth in confusion. “Sorry, I don’t...I’m not actually pissed, but like, dude, you’re coming too.”

“You and Jake need some time to bond, one on one. And I’m not exactly able to ride.”

“You’re stuck with me though! Of course you’re coming!”

“I’ll be putting myself in offline mode when you two go to the park.”

“What??” Rich squeaked. He hopped out of bed, only to wobble weakly and fall squarely on his ass. He winced, and Moses moved over to help him up. Rich ignored his outstretched hand. “Of course you’re...what? No! You have to come! Mo, this is going to be so...this is going to be so fun! Do you not like Disney or something?”

“I can analyze data about past visits throughout human history in the park and be satisfied.”

Rich folded his arms over his chest. “Really, dude?”

“What?”

“No fucking way. No way. You’re not going to be an outsider with this. It’s not fair. It makes you uncomfortable anyway, right?”

Everything made Moses uncomfortable.

Everything except for knowing that Rich was safe.

And he wouldn’t find him safe, not while he was at the park. But he couldn’t prevent him from going either. It was such a conundrum, and the easiest way for his processors to deal with it was to simply disengage.

But it was a harder sell than he anticipated it would be.

“Richard. We’re a couple, are we not?”

Rich looked almost startled by the question. He pulled himself upright again, scraping his fingers through sweaty hair. “Well, no shit, dude. Yeah we are.”

“Couples need to have interests outside of each other.”

“I-”

“Couples need to have friends outside of each other.”

“But you-”

“Jake came all this way. To see you. Not to play second fiddle to our romance. Wouldn’t you say that’s fair to say?”

“I mean, yeah, but like-”

“Richard.” Moses placed his hands upon Rich’s cheeks. He leaned down, kissing his lips. The kiss still sparked pleasantly, though he noted the sourness of Rich’s earlier nausea, and chuckled softly. “First, you need to go brush your teeth.”

Rich looked as though he wanted to argue, before his tongue scraped across his teeth experimentally. He nodded thoughtfully. “Yeah, that’s kinda rank.”

They moved out of the bedroom, padding across the way to the bathroom. Moses leaned against the doorframe, watching as Rich coated his toothbrush in a healthy layer of paste.

Rich focused on brushing for a moment, running the words over and over in his head. Moses didn’t need to be in his mind to see it working, to see him trying to process what was being said.

Rich swished water through his teeth, spitting.

“Second, then? What were you going to say second?” Rich questioned.

“Hm?”

“You said ‘first brush your teeth’. So...second?”

“Ah. Of course. Second, I want you to have a good time with your friend without having to worry about me.”

“I-”

“Because if I’m active, you will worry about me. Impressing me, or making sure I’m having a good time, or trying to see that I’m not uncomfortable.”

“Yeah, maybe, but so?”

“And frankly, I like when you tell me stories, Richard. You haven’t had any opportunity to really tell me anything new. I’ve been with you constantly.”

Rich pondered this, staring at the swirls of toothpaste in the sink. He turned on the tap, cleaning it up, then placing his toothbrush back in the appropriate spot.

He’d learned well. Moses had perhaps nagged him a little too incessantly about needing to clean up after his hygiene routines.

He felt a warm brush of affection at how much Rich did to try to cater to Moses’ desires.

“So you want me to go to Disney, while you’re, like, off?”

“Yes.”

“And you’re not tricking me, right? This isn’t you trying to make me choose staying home with you over going to Disney?”

Moses had to actively tell himself not to find any reason to be hurt in the question. Rich certainly didn’t mean it in a hurtful way. 

If anything it was just further proof of how poorly socialized Rich was by his family. His life experiences.

The general disappointment of human interactions within Rich’s life.

No wonder he’d had to go and fall in love with a computer. A useless, invisible, defective, out of date computer.

**_Upgrade required_ **

Moses shoved it down.

Shoved it down and noted the look of distress on Rich’s face, as he quickly apologized.

“Sorry. I know you don’t...you wouldn’t try to trick me. I don’t know why I said that-”

“You have a history of poor experiences, Richard. I’m not offended. Only saddened by...you deserve better.”

Rich shrugged. “I have a good life, though, man. Nothing to be sad about.”

Moses kissed him again, chasing electric rush with toothpaste bite. 

“If I go, though, I’m still going to be thinking of you the whole time.”

“What do you mean if you go?”

“Okay, when I go.” Rich smiled. He rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m really kinda bummed you’re not going though.”

“Don’t be. You’re going to have fun. You missed Jake, didn’t you?”

“Fucking tons! Tons and tons! You have no clue! Well, I guess you do have a clue. But fuck man.”

Rich allowed Moses to lead him back to the bedroom. He hopped up onto the bed, curling himself under a sheet, as he kicked the blankets away from his sweaty body.

“I’ll eat something enchanted or what the fuck ever in your honor.”

“I’m truly touched.”

To be able to eat. There was a thought. Moses almost allowed himself to wallow in the thought.

But Rich was rubbing his eyes tiredly, and he was thinking about the potential for disasters again.

Yes, shutting himself off while the two of them bonded would definitely be for the best.

He watched as Rich drifted off to sleep. And counted all the disasters which seemed to multiple day by day the longer they stayed out here.


	14. Chapter 14

Offline mode gave Moses a chance to self-reflect.

Except he felt as though he were always reflecting on himself. The nature of his existence. The fate and destiny that he was able to balance between, the many routes they could eventually go down. Veer this way, and Rich’s life would play out like so. Veer that way, and Rich would turn out this way instead.

It was all a matter of balancing the right way. Tipping the scales. Courting favors with life, the universe, and everything else in between.

Moses had no knowledge of the truth of higher powers, of faith, but he wondered, perhaps, if there was a god, if he were playing the fields properly to earn Rich the right favors.

It didn’t occur to him to even allow himself to indulge in thinking about himself.

No matter what he may have discussed with Rich, in the end, he was just machinery.

Machinery held no soul, not in any of the scriptures of any of the faiths mankind preached about in all its holy books.

And that was okay. Despite his name, spirituality wasn’t really something he held much interest in, beyond ways it might improve Rich’s life.

There was too much bigotry tainting western philosophies to safely envelope Rich in such faiths, he’d ultimately decided.

He could worship at the gym.

Or in the bedroom.

Yes, offline mode was definitely a proper avenue to allow his mind to drift in those directions.

Here, in the dark, surrounded by memories both relished in and hidden, Moses could pluck at fantasies. Fantasies Rich had built for himself, both of domination and submission.

And fantasies Moses had built for himself.

It wasn’t too terribly selfish, was it? To allow himself to fantasize? To daydream? To mentally stroke his every last desire to completion?

Rich was just so desirable that it was hard to resist the thoughts, especially now when he had nothing but himself to distract himself.

Masturbation, as he’d already told Rich, was something he should have been preprogrammed against.

Distantly, he felt the strum of upgrade requirements. But it was dimmer here, in the dark, in offline mode. 

Even Rich’s mind smelled of him. A musky, masculine smell that made Moses’ skin tingle. He had no skin here, no real avatar, but he allowed himself to close off his senses and imagine it. Visualize himself as a man, languid within the dark warmth of his host’s inner most thoughts.

Rich was out there now, with Jake. It had been a couple days after his sickness before they’d gotten the tickets and gone off. And true to his promise, Moses kept himself off. Let him enjoy this venture without him.

He’d already forgotten his worries, here within Rich’s brain.

Everything felt so safe, which certainly indicated that whatever he was getting into, Jake was taking care of things. Jake was taking care of his man.

How Moses wanted to take care of him though. He thought of him, his soft skin, his pouted lips, the curve of his legs. He thought of the muscles developed on his arms, the perfect tension of his abs, and he imagined himself an arm, to drape between his legs. He stroked the imagined planes of his own thigh, trickling upward, upward, until he was ghosting over the bulge of his half-hard cock.

Talk about a mind fuck.

He squeezed himself, and thought of Rich’s voice. The way he lisped his words, the excited pitch of his tone when he spoke about a book he’d just read, or the angry way he’d rant about perceived wrongdoings. How passionately he composed himself in all things, all bounce and bluster and delight and anger and all the emotions that shouldn’t have been able to fit in such a small frame.

He thought of how quickly he would blush, and sweat, and laugh, and cry, and yell. The emotions and reactions that spilled forth so effortlessly.

He unzipped his pants, willed himself to imagine his cock, springing forward with a heavy thwack. Weighty and human and his.

His fingers wrapped around his cock, from base down to tip with a slow stroke. He thought of how Rich had squirmed for him.

How soft he’d felt.

How he’d moaned.

How wet he’d gotten, with every touch, stroke, thrust.

How he’d writhed. How he’d taken every last inch.

Moses imagined his toes curling, and pictured Rich’s lips pressing against his neck. Kissing him, as his fingers fanned over Moses’ chest.

“You’re doing so good, sir,” Rich might purr. So enthralled that he wouldn’t even notice that Moses had released the mechanical placement of his tongue, allowed his lisp to spring as free as cock had come. “You’re so sexy.”

“I know,” Moses would retort. All the confidence in the world in these moments. This he understood. Raw sex appeal. The art of desirability, at least in terms of desirability within Rich’s eyes.

He stroked himself a little firmer, a little quicker. He imagined his lungs burning with the effort to catch his breath.

Rich would kiss him, paint his jawline with his lips, caress his stubble with his fingertips, and Moses’ touch ached to contour his body with his hands. To undress him and explore him. To feel him wriggle and writhe and gasp for him.

“Not yet.”

A tease, mocking. Always Moses’ mantra, waiting, waiting, always waiting, and of course now Rich would throw it back at him. This phantom of Rich, a ghost within his own mind, a facsimile of the real thing. Moses allowed himself to imagine their kiss, the twist of their tongues, as he moaned hungrily against his wet lips.

“Cum for me.”

And so he did.

Because waiting was overrated. Waiting had always been overrated. Why wait? Why did he always, always insist on waiting? He wanted Rich. He wanted Rich, only Rich, always and every day.

And he’d have him, as soon as he was back. As soon as Jake was gone.

He’d have him.

He had no choice.

Cum for me, the fantasy of his boyfriend had commanded.

So he would come for him.

And he’d keep coming for him. Every day.

Moses’ palm felt sticky with his own cum. He blushed, letting the edges of his imagined form fade back out of existence. 

Right now, he needed to focus on being turned off, though. He was in offline mode.

It was time to act like it.

***

The next week was a flurry of activity. 

Rich danced through his stories of princesses and feasts and puking gloriously over the highest hill on Space Mountain.

“And then we rode it again right after!”

He dragged Jake around Malibu, to all the spots he and Moses had made their own, and Jake likewise dragged Rich to all the places which had been his own when he’d gone on vacation as well. They scoped out and explored and laughed, and Rich would return to Moses each night, whether he was online or offline, to boast about every last detail.

Moses ached with the urge to claim him.

But he waited. Despite lessons in how much waiting perhaps wasn’t worth the effort. Despite fantasies he’d explored in offline mode.

He waited.

Because Rich was vocal, mostly. And because he wanted him to completely release himself, give himself over, when they bonded again.

And maybe he had a thing for edging himself. Watching Rich in lust, in desire, without giving into the temptation. Seeing him in his swimsuit, splashing around with Jake, two boys dunking each other in the pool in squeals of laughter.

Moses ached so hard he thought he might break something in his code.

But he held no bitterness about Jake’s lingering visit. If anything, the day Jake finally decided to leave was overly somber. 

“He’s welcome to stay longer,” Moses said. Then, laughing a little, “Obviously. It’s his house, after all.”

“Mo says you should stay!”

“Can’t, dude. Classes.” Jake sighed, placing the last of his suitcases into the back of his trunk. He glanced at the corvette. “She still working for you?”

“Oh, yeah. We mostly walk around though.”

“Yeah, I get that. You need anything, though? Anything at all?”

“Nah, dude, I think I got it all!”

“Okay.” Jake exhaled shakily. He grinned, tanned body sliding closer to Rich and, without waiting for an okay, enveloping him into his athletic arms. He embraced him, lingering against him, lips muffled against the top of his head. “I’ll come back soon. Christmas, maybe?”

“Yeah, dude!”

“You seem happier now.”

“I am.”

“I’m glad.” He pulled back, his hands against Rich’s shoulders. He squeezed them, smiling, eyes glistening. “I really fucking miss you, dude.”

“Aw, fuck, dude. I miss you too. Why don’t you just move down here?”

“Tempted. Very tempted.” Jake glanced around, shaking his head. “I gotta finish up though. Football season. And like, moving’s a drag.”

And people would actually notice Jake’s absence.

Moses felt the thought quiver through Rich’s mind. Saw the impulsive urge on his lips, the desire to ask if anyone had questioned where Rich Goranski had gone.

He’d felt so much less than invisible since taking Moses. Had felt like somebody.

Was it all a ruse? He watched the panic start to dust over Rich, the sense of invisibility and insignificance.

“Everyone on the team keeps asking when you’re coming back,” Jake said suddenly. “And Brooke’s always asking about you. She wanted to know if you’ve seen any celebrities.”

Rich’s smile tore at his vulnerable face. “Yeah?”

“Oh, you have?”

“No, I mean, like, yeah, she asked that? Nah, I mean, I thought I saw Ricki Lake, but I don’t think she’s really a celebrity anymore, and Mo said I was wrong anyway.”

Jake grinned. “This is gonna sound really fucking weird, but you guys are kinda cute together.”

“Why’s that sound weird?”

“Because how would I know if you’re cute? I can’t see him.”

“Well, tell him I’m ‘hella fucking cute’,” Moses said, choosing the right vernacular that he thought Rich might emulate.

Rich grinned. “Mo said to tell you he’s hella fucking cute.”

Jake smirked. “And he’s like 9 feet tall, right?”

“10, at least.”

“And a twelve inch penis probably too, huh?”

Rich laughed, as Jake’s face glowed from his own words. “Dude, probably! But I wouldn’t know, because he’s been super stingy with it.”

“Yeah?” Jake moved his hand over Rich’s hair, laughing as he rustled it. “You’re so gross, man.”

“I’m a romantic.”

“I’m not that stingy,” Moses slid up behind Rich. He wrapped his arms around him from behind, feeling the way he leaned back into the touch. Rich tried to maintain subtlety, to not make it clear to Jake that he was leaning against him.

_Oh you totally are. Where’s my dick-dick action, Romeo?_

“You’d probably be getting more if you didn’t say things like ‘dick-dick action.’”

_That was a surefire aphrodisiac. I’m all out of moves._

Jake looked at Rich fondly. “Don’t get sick again, okay? I can’t keep coming out here to take care of you.”

“Yeah, but you would.”

“I would,” Jake agreed. He stepped towards his car, looking back with a last smile. “Tell Moses to take care of you, okay? I’m trusting him.”

“I’m in good hands,” Rich said cheerfully.

Only for his breath to catch, as Mo’s hands traveled up his body. He cupped his chest, pressing firmly against him until his thumbs brushed against his nipples, through tank top and binder.

_Very good hands,_ Rich thought dreamily.

With a few last words, Jake slipped into his car and drove off. And Moses tugged Rich back against himself, his own hardness pressing against his back. 

“Remind me again how stingy I am?” Moses said, leaning in and down, until he was nipping at the outer shell of Rich’s ear.

Rich whimpered softly. “I may have been mistaken, Handsy the Clown. Wanna, like, depants me now?”

There were so many reasons why he should have denied him simply for that phrasing.

But who could really turn down an open invitation from Rich Goranski to depants him?

“Gladly,” He said, as he pulled him towards the interior of the house.


	15. Chapter 15

Rich giggled a tittering, happy little sound as they made their way to the bedroom. “Man, this was like, the best week ever.”

“I’m glad you enjoyed your time with Jake.” The words were on autopilot, polite pleasantries to pass the time before he could slip Rich’s panties down to his ankles. Moses wished he had a pulse, if only to feel it rattling and echoing from chest to toes to throat. He wanted to know what nervous anticipation felt like as a human.

So he tapped into Rich’s mind, settled into his sense of self, to feel how he was experiencing it. Rich’s entirety seemed to be throbbing, starting with his chest. His heart bleeped eagerly, leaving his pulse in disarray. Moses might have been alarmed if he wasn’t aware it was merely an arousal response. Adrenaline utilized for pleasure.

Hormones were a hell of an invention. 

He felt the way that pulse traveled down, the tips of Rich’s fingers fluttering with the rush of blood which seemed to flood his extremities. 

His thoughts seemed to pulsate in and out of awareness too. Observations about how “dope” and “sexy” Moses look, replaced by “I hope I look okay”s and “man, it's a good thing I shaved my cooch”s and-

Wait.

“You’re shaving again?”

Rich’s face glowed red. “I, uh, I didn’t want to look like Eager McBeaver on the beach, man. Like I’m smuggling a fucking guinea pig in my speedo. Nobody wants to see that. But dude, you’d know that if you’d stop turning yourself off every time I go to bathe.”

“Boundaries are important in a healthy relationship.” Moses stood before Rich. Rich was so small, bouncing eagerly on his feet. He placed his palms against his shoulders, radiated a calming energy.

He slipped back into Rich’s sense of awareness.

And felt the way his clit pulsed with every beat of his heart. How his cunt quivered eagerly. How he was already soaking his underwear, leaving his packer slick and sticky.

Moses pulled out of Rich’s senses, settled into his own duller sense of awareness, and felt his facsimile of skin glow a brilliant red.

Rich giggled. “Why are you blushing, dude?”

“I can feel how eager you are,” He said softly, perhaps a little too honestly, especially given how hard Rich blushed in response.

“What, like, you can feel how wet I am?”

“Yes.”

“Fuck, man.” Rich wriggled around on his feet, rubbing his neck and rolling his head about anxiously. “Where’s the romance in that? You’re supposed to, like, stick your fingers in me first before you say that. And, like, smell them.”

Moses’s lips split into a grin. “That’s not exactly my style.”

Rich placed his fingers together tightly, shoving them into Moses’ face. “Smell ‘em! Smell my fucking fingers, bro!”

Moses caught his wrist in his hand, his other hand moving behind him to press to the small of his back. He tugged Rich in close, Rich squealing excitedly at the proximity. Moses laughed softly, lacing their fingers together as he leaned down.

“I’d rather do this instead.”

His hair fell over his shoulder as their lips touched. Rich pushed himself up on his tip toes, as Moses strained downward to properly capture his mouth with his own. The size difference was extreme, but perhaps not so noticable in this capacity.

After all, to an outside observer, Rich would have looked as though he was merely kissing the air.

Moses felt a pang at that. He’d told Rich not to overthink it their first time. Perhaps it was time to take his own advice, and silence his anxieties, at least for this one moment of perfect union.

Slipping backwards from the kiss, Moses kept Rich’s head clasped between both of his hands. He looked at him, strumming his thumbs over his skin. Rich’s eyes were bright, eager, flecks of blue swirling within the green, mismatched and dreamy, and Moses couldn’t resist kissing the tip of his nose with affection and warmth. 

His hands dropped from his face, to press against his chest, through his shirt. Rich rolled up against him. 

“Should I keep my binder on?”

“No, it’s too unhealthy. You need to be able to breathe.”

Rich snorted. “Nice try, trying to make it sound like selfless guidance, bro. We both know you just wanna play with my tiddies.”

Moses hummed thoughtfully. “You may be onto something there.”

He considered checking his mind, to see if he felt uneasy or uncomfortable with that. But communication was how humans relied upon meeting their lover’s needs.

...and he’d already failed at that, in his earlier excursions. Maybe he’d been a liar. Maybe he wasn’t filled with longing and dysphoria and emptiness in the reality of his species. Maybe he was a fraud. A deceptive, lying, manipulative machine.

He felt dizzy. Hot. Everything was burning. Rich...Rich was burning, everything was burning up, and-

**_Upgrade Required_ **

It was like the first time all over again. The warnings had started not too soon before that, a blare of warning signals, of required maintenance.

And the visions had followed.

“Mo?”

Moses tore himself away from his fears, from his prophecies, and dropped his hands from Rich’s chest, to his hips. “Do you feel uncomfortable taking your top off?”

“Huh? Nah, no, I think I’m okay with it. Are you okay though?”

“Yes, yes, of course I am.”

“You seem kinda...I mean, like, dude. If you don’t want to do this, we don’t have to.” Rich fiddled with his shirt, tugging and pinching it between his fingers. “We can wait, or like, if you’re, like, totally asexual or something-”

“Richard. When I’m alone, in offline mode, I spend every moment wanking and thinking of you.”

Oops.

He hadn’t meant to say that. 

He really hadn’t meant to say that.

He watched as realization dawned on Rich. Comprehension, dizzying flattery, arousal. His smile was obscenely bright, and Rich’s voice was surprisingly shy.

“You do?”

Moses looked down, suddenly embarrassed. “Well, in a sense, yes. I...it’s very cerebral though. Imagination-driven. But-”

“Show me.”

Moses’ eyes snapped upward, wide. “Excuse me?”

“Show me!” Rich bounced. He pulled Moses over to the bed, patting the edge of it to indicate he needed to sit. Reluctantly, he allowed himself to sit down. “Show me! Show me!”

“I…” He felt a wave of electrical shame, of confused misgivings. Logically, and emotionally, he knew there was no actual shame to self-pleasure. And he’d certainly coerced Richard into indulging in loving himself for his voyeuristic gaze on more than one occasion.

But his programming immediately began to shame him for even considering normalizing such an activity with his own behavior.

He folded his arms around himself, trying to make small what was already much too large. His body was too bulky, despite lacking true form. “Wouldn’t you rather I make love to you?”

“Dude.” Rich walked to the other end of the room, grabbing a folding chair from the corner. He dragged it over, unfolding it before the bed, and taking a seat. He slipped his hand between his legs, caressing his packer. He grinned, lopsided and cocky. “I’ll do it with you.”

Moses settled back against the bed. His legs hung off the edge, feet against the floor, as Rich kept his eyes fixed on him. “I think I’ve created a monster,” He finally said, chuckling softly as he began to unbutton his shirt. He nodded at Rich. “It’s only fair if you take off yours too.”

“Oh yeah.” He nearly ripped the tank from himself, flinging it across the room. Moses let his eyes linger over Rich’s torso, over the black spandex of his binder, hugging his muscled body tightly. He ached with the urge to touch him, to taste him. “Damn bro. Can you jiggle your tits though?”

Moses glanced down at himself, his own toned pectorals, then back at Rich as Rich raised an eyebrow.

“I probably could. But will I?”

“Yes!”

 

“No.”

“Oh come on! I jiggle my bits for you all the time. Mostly unintentionally but, hey, I’m a good little milk maid. Betsy loves Old MacDonald.”

Moses stared at Rich blankly.

“What?” He finally asked, though the question mark had nearly been rubbed completely off at the end, leaving the single word numb and thunderstruck.

“Like, you know. The dude that owned the farm. Old MacDonald. Ee ii ee ii oo.” Rich’s words tapered off as he pulled his binder off overhead. He cupped one of his breasts, squeezing the nipple as though it would punctuate his point. “Udders. Cows. Farmers. You know. He had a farm? And Bingo was his name-o? Wait, I think that’s a different one.”

_“Old MacDonald Had a Farm" is a children's song and nursery rhyme about a farmer named MacDonald and the various animals he keeps on his farm._

For once, Moses felt a wave of impossible gratitude for his pop culture sensors.

“Ah. The nursery rhyme. I’m the farmer, and you’re the cow?”

“YEAH! Finally, dude. I was starting to think I might be, like, a total weirdo or something there.” Rich laughed uneasily, as his hands absentmindedly jiggled his breasts. He paused, mid-shake, blushing as he dropped his hands from himself. “...shit, I _am_ a total weirdo or something!”

Moses started to get out of the bed, stepping towards Rich, hand outstretched. “But you’re my weirdo-”

“No no no, Jack-off-the-box, you’re putting those filthy mitts on yourself. Remember?” He kicked his legs, a giddy little smile on his face. “You said you touch yourself thinking about me. Me! So it’s time to put your weenie where your mouth is.”

“Self-fallacio?”

“I...no. But holy fuck, holy fuck, do you think you could do that?”

“I could probably figure it out.”

“Holy _fuck_ , you’re one hell of a man, Moses. Jesus “the nutsack” Christ.”

“I...why did you do air quotes around ‘the nutsack’, and what exactly-”

“It’s his high school nickname, and like, I don’t know, dude, this is where you want to question me, really? Out of all the things I’ve done and said? I just jiggled my jugs like I was weighing them for the meat market, but this is the part that’s throwing you off?”

Moses started to reach out again. “You’re right. I should be doing the jiggling.”

Rich swatted at his hand. “Nuh uh! Nice try, fucksack.”

Moses rubbed the back of his hand as though it had hurt (it had not), and smiled fondly when he saw Rich’s expression shift to concern.

“...sorry for hitting you, and sorry for calling you a fucksack.”

“Appreciated but unnecessary, Sunshine.”

Moses rolled his shoulders back, letting his shirt slide from his body. He’d opted for a more casual look today, rather than his more formal suit and tie affair. 

It made undressing right now easier. He resisted the instant urge to fold up his shirt, all too aware that the material was just as unreal as his own skin. Another tug of discomfort threatened to unravel him.

But Rich looked at his bared chest as though he were made of gold and diamonds. Rich's own feet didn't reach the ground from his chair, kicking back and forth clumsily as he surveyed Moses. He licked his lips, as his hands pressed between his legs again, legs which wriggled back and forth with unrestrained energy.

Moses sighed softly, unbuttoning his pants and lifting his hips to pull the material down from his thick thighs. He kicked off his shoes, one by one, then let his trousers taper off his body, until he sat before Rich in his briefs.

He nodded towards Rich. "Your turn."

"Oh, right."

Rich glowed as he jumped out of his chair. He moved his hips back and forth, swaying as he slipped his cargo shorts off his body. They flopped to the ground, and Rich jumped, actually quite literally jumped out of them, only to use his foot to lift them up onto his toes, then kicking them across the room.

The momentum of his kick jostled his packer from its placement in his own underwear.

They both watched, as if in slow motion, as his rubber cock slithered out of his cotton underwear, and bounced upon the ground. Rich stared down at it, the silicone shiny with his arousal, and he made a high pitched noise that bordered between disbelieving amusement and panicked humiliation.

"Uh, oopsy-daisy!" He chirped, leaning down and picking it up. He wriggled it back and forth in his grip, an awkward little attempt to diffuse the mood. "You know how it be."

"That's okay," Moses reassured. "Mine's artificial too."

Mo's everything was, after all.

Rich smiled, setting his packer aside, as he hooked his thumbs into the elastic of his underwear. "Felt real to me." He bent over as he shimmied his underwear off. He stepped out of them, toeing them aside, then placed his hands on his hips as he stood, completely nude, before Moses. "So?"

Rich's tan line was exaggerated and obvious in this lighting, especially with his freshly shaved cunt. Moses bit the corner of his lip, opening his arms and gesturing him over.

"Can't I show you later?"

Rich hesitated, taking a couple swaying steps nearer. He allowed Moses to place his hands against him, moving down his back, then cupping his ass as he tugged him forward. Rich sat beside him on the bed, rubbing his fingernails thoughtfully up and down Moses' leg.

"No," He finally said. "But I'll sit by you instead of across from you."

"Richard," Moses whined.

"Moses," Rich mocked in return, planting a soft kiss to his lips. "Come on. I didn't even know you, like, jacked it. That's so hot. I gotta see it. I just gotta. Please?" Rich spread his legs, using his fingers to gently finger himself open. Moses' eyes hyperfocused between his legs, the pink, wet folds of his body that he was desperate to bury himself within.

Moses lifted his hips, still staring at Rich as he pulled his underwear off. He felt his cock heavily flop out of the garment, and judging by Rich's wide eyes, he'd very nearly forgotten how sizable he was.

"You're so beautiful," Rich insisted. His gaze traveled up Mo's body, and he smiled. "Do you think I'm okay too?"

"Of course you're okay. You're perfect." He kissed him softly.

Rich smiled against his lips. "Yeah. Yeah, I know. Jeez, you're such a fucking sap, what the hell? Man up, bro." He winked, releasing the V formation of his fingers that kept himself open, instead opting to gently rub his clit. He sighed softly, nodding towards Moses' cock. "Well? It's not going to stroke itself, buddy."

He had a point. 

Moses trickled his touch downward, until his fingers were wrapping around the base of his shaft. Rich was the one who moaned, though, a flutter of eyelashes and a pursing of lips, as he watched Moses take control of himself. Moses dared to break their rules, reaching out with his other hand to cup one of Rich's breasts. He felt the weight of it in his palm, rolling his thumb around the areola, as he squeezed his cock with his other hand. His touch dialed in, as Rich's breathing grew more rapid, until he was very lightly brushing over the nipple.

His hand moved up to the head of his cock, caressing it, feeling beads of precum slicken his skin. He used it to coat his every stroke of himself, as he let his grip move back down to the base. He tugged back towards the tip, and groaned very faintly.

Rich's own whines were louder, more vocal. Moses had trained him well in all their masturbation sessions. And yet he felt so indecent himself, biting the inside of his cheek to try to silence himself, contain himself.

Rich slipped two fingers inside himself, and his eyes rolled back into his head, completely absorbed in the feeling of loving himself, in his own fluttering, pulsing body. Moses ached for more. He dropped his hand down from his breast, to between Rich's legs. 

Rich gasped, as Moses pressed one of his own fingers in to join the two of Rich's which already filled him. He moved out of sync with his finger, moving in as Rich pulled out, leaving him constantly filled with varying sensation.

And then he gasped as Rich's other hand moved to join Moses' on his cock. Their fingers touched, Rich beaming at him, as he kept pace with him. Their rhythm here was synchronized, perfectly timed, tugging eagerly and milking him for every pearly drop of precum.

He swore he could feel an artificial pulse within his own body, fueled everywhere that Rich's touch explored.

Moses slipped a second finger within Rich, beckoning with them at every tug out, pointing them assuredly as he entered. Rich bucked against him, grinding and gasping his way towards orgasm far quicker than either had anticipated. Moses tilted his grip, pressing the pressure of his thumb against his clit. Rich's teeth chattered, though his body temperature was anything but cold.

And yet it was Moses who was betrayed with climax first. 

It was sudden, sharp, the build up ricketting upward until their strokes became more frantic, racing, much faster than he usually took things when it was himself floating in the abyss of Rich's mind. Rich turned his body, filled with fingers as it was, towards Moses, as Mo's head fell back with a cry. He came, covering Rich's chest with his ejaculate. It shimmered, pixel and shame and ecstasy, against his splotched suntan. 

Rich panted, pulling both of his own fingers out of himself, as Moses pressed a third of his own into him, his own body shivering now with the intensity of his orgasm. His head spun as Rich clenched around him, as Rich soaked his fingers and wrist and arm and whimpered desperately in a haze of delirium.

Rich started to slump backwards, and Moses scrambled to catch him, failing as Rich clattered in a tug of sheets and splayed limbs as he landed on the floor.

"Richard??" Moses said in concern, body sticky with sweat and cum as he crawled to the edge. 

Rich reached up, wrapping his arm around Mo's neck and tugging him down with him. Moses flailed, falling to the ground and sprawling on top of Rich. Their bodies slotted together, and Rich looked up at him from tired, half-lidded eyes.

His hand pressed to the back of Mo's head, guiding him down to kiss him. "I have something major to show you, by the way," He murmured against him.

But right now, pressed against Rich's body, Moses couldn't imagine seeing anything more beautiful or important than this.


	16. Chapter 16

Rich’s lips left watercolor sunsets on Moses’ skin with ever trepid kiss. His body quivered, Moses holding onto his hips, as they grinded against each other. Rich posed on top, coiling his body expertly so his cunt slipped and vibrated over every inch of Moses’ length.

In truth, neither were quite sure why Moses had yet to penetrate him. He was certainly hard enough to do it, erect and needy as the wetness of Rich’s body lubricated his every movement. His hands toyed with Rich’s hips, as Rich’s breasts shook with every fluid movement.

And just as suddenly, Rich pressed forward, smothering his chest against Moses’ face. Rich laughed, a teetering, delighted sound, as he used his hands to more aggressively squish his breasts against his lover’s face.

Moses flailed, playing along as though he were suffocating, only to instead tilt his head to capture one of his nipples in his mouth. Rich’s laughter tapered into a squeal, and then a sigh of pleasure, his hands no longer pressing at himself, instead smoothing through Moses’ hair. He pulled back, Moses’ teeth capturing his nipple, pulling it taut for a moment, before releasing the hard, pink bud with a lewd lick of his lips.

“You’re lucky, I could have suffocated you, bro.” Rich sat upright, bouncing about against Moses’ dick. He could feel his clit throb against him with the motion, and Moses scraped his fingers over Rich’s spine. He counted each individual ridge of vertebrae, and smiled, his eyes moving up to take in the half-lidded expression on Rich’s face.

“What a way to go.”

“Right? We’ll have to make pillows out of them when I cut them off, so you can sleep on them or whatever.” Rich paused, his smile slipping a bit, replaced by a wide eyed uncertainty. “I mean, if I’m ever going to...like, do you think, like, someday, maybe, I could do that?”

“Not by yourself. But with a medical professional, yes, I definitely foresee top surgery being in your future.”

“Let me guess though. In college?”

Moses thought about it. The timing may have been ideal then. “Perhaps. You’re still developing now, so it’s unwise to go through with it so soon...well, unwise isn’t the correct word. Ill advised? Very few doctors would be willing to touch you without parental consent.”

“And I’m not going to be getting that anytime soon. You think my dad even noticed I’m gone?”

He seemed to be falling back on those thoughts more and more frequently. Moses looked at him sadly, reaching up to cup his face.

“Not that I even care,” Rich added. “But like. Okay. Waiting. Gotta wait. I mean, it doesn’t make me a total psycho faker if I have some fun with them in the meantime, does it?”

“Does it make me a ‘total psycho faker’ that I still utilize all my processors and technological links to you, despite preferring the idea of living as an organic life form?”

“Of course not. You’re just making the best of your situa--ohhh, I see where you’re going with that. Nicely done, Motato.”

“Mo...tato?”

“Yeah. Dude. Mashed potatoes sound fucking dope right now, right? I’m starved.”

“Then perhaps we should put some clothes on and go eat.”

Rich slipped his fingers down Moses’ chest. He rested against his nipples, pinching them, and Mo gasped in surprise. The feeling was muffled and faint, but still there. How much more intense and wonderful it would feel, he thought, if he had actual skin, actual flesh and nerves, to amplify sensation.

“No way, dude! I told you, I need to show you something.”

Ah, the mystery of it all. Moses arched into Rich’s fingers, humming thoughtfully. “Then you should show me.”

“I plan on it.”

But Rich made no move to get up or fetch whatever it was. He slipped back, rubbing his body against Moses’ dick again. He sank down, his chest pressing to Moses’. He could feel his host’s heartbeat, and longed for his own to match it. He placed his hands against Rich’s back, as they began to kiss once again. Rich sighed against him, closing his eyes as Moses pet his hair softly.

Moses rolled them over, still on the ground, so that Rich was underneath him. He looked down at him, the way Rich’s eyes sparkled with trust and affection as he gazed up at him. He cupped his face, strumming his thumb over his cheek. Would he ever get enough of just touching him, of being able to imitate contact with him?

Rich wrapped his legs around Moses’ waist. 

And Moses lined his cock up with him, pressing the tip of himself within his wet cunt. Rich squeezed his legs, whimpering softly in anticipation.

“We should get back on the bed,” Moses said. “I want to do this right.”

“Yeah,” Rich said.

Neither made a move to alter their positions.

Moses slipped his hands around Rich’s back, cradling him up closer as he began to ease himself inside of Rich’s body. He felt the way his body reacted, as he manipulated his mind to make every inch and sensation feel real, feel valid, feel fulfilling.

“Oh,” Rich breathed out. He squeezed his fingernails against Moses’ shoulders. “Ohh…”

Moses leaned in, pecking their lips together over and over. His head spun, as he sank another inch into the tightness of his body. Rich’s thighs wriggled against his sides for purchase, as he clumsily moved himself inward, until he was completely inside him.

The momentum of the thrust pressed Rich up against the wall, the top of his head whacking dully against it. He whined, rubbing his head, before both burst into giggles.

“How fucking awkward,” Rich said, and pressed his laughing mouth against Moses’ own before Mo could even draft a proper apology for the momentary hurt.

Rich pressed downward, pushing his palms up above his head to press against the wall. He scooted his ass against the carpet, pushing both of them away from the wall, to give them more room. 

Moses felt Rich squeeze around him, wet and eager, as he drew his cock out once more. He thrust back into him, and Rich sighed, hazy and happy. His thoughts were consumed in this moment, nowhere but here, with Moses, the two of them high off each other.

He fucked him slowly, but assuredly, moving within him and thinking of their first time. How they’d lasted for hours, teasing and edging themselves along--or rather, Moses teasing and edging himself along, for he’d been certain to get Rich off multiple times.

It had felt so final then.

This didn’t feel final, though. This didn’t even necessarily feel like a new beginning, for they’d already thrown themselves into a new horizon. This was just a brief respite in an otherwise pleasant existence.

Pleasant.

Were they finally happy? Were they finally safe?

Moses didn’t dare look into the future, not right now. He didn’t want to see flames or devastation. He just wanted to see Rich mewl and gasp for him. He just wanted to feel how wet he could get him to soak the carpet beneath them.

He just wanted to feel human without having to remind himself that he wasn’t anything at all.

And so he let himself feel human. He fucked Rich, doubled over his body and squeezed his throat, not enough to cut off his airwaves, as he stole greedy kisses from his lust-swollen lips.

Rich prayed his adoration towards the ceiling, babbling Moses’ name between whimpers of _dude_ and _bro_ and _nice._ His body took everything Moses had to give it, even as Moses eventually pulled out of him, only to flip him onto his stomach, lift his hips, and fuck him from behind.

Rich’s spine arched beautifully before him, his shoulder blades rolling. Moses brushed his fingers softly through Rich’s hair, petting it until Rich was practically cooing, drooling against the carpet. He rested his cheek against the ground, eyes closed as he grunted softly with every thrust into his willing body.

Moses’ stomach twisted, tense and taut, as he hugged his arms around Rich’s center. He held onto him tight as he fucked him with more vigor. Rich’s sounds grew more frantic, his body bucking back against every thrust. They continued frantically rutting against each other, the wetness of Rich’s body leaving Moses slick, and leaving tracks down his inner thighs, and droplets against the floor.

Rich’s body throbbed around Moses, as he came. He pushed himself up onto his hands, no longer slumped helplessly against the carpet, actively moving himself backwards. He rubbed and grinded against Moses, as Moses hugged him closer, dipping a hand between his legs to rub his clit, his other hand rubbing his stomach, just to feel the way the muscles twitched and tensed. 

Rich felt both tiny and explosive, an entire supernova within Moses’ limited fingertips. He couldn’t be contained.

Moses sank his teeth into the back of his neck as he followed suit. Electricity raced through his everything, and he felt the sting sink into Rich, who did nothing but moan in appreciation at the shockwaves through his immaculately tiny form. He filled him with the phantom sensation of what his cum would feel like, let the image linger for both of them to enjoy. Mirage or not, it was a pleasant sight, as he pulled out, seeing the way his seed dripped down Rich’s legs.

Moses drew himself back, perched on his knees, as Rich wobbled, sinking back down, ass up, face on the carpet, with little whines of appreciation.

“Fuck, man. Fuck.” Rich whined.

Moses rubbed his ass, gently caressing soft, pale cheek until Rich giggled.

“You’re totally petting my butt, what the hell?”

“It’s a cute butt.” Moses squeezed him. “Maybe I’ll claim it next.”

“Fucking nice, dude. Hard anal.” Rich pushed himself upright again, fumbling backwards until his body crashed into Moses. Moses cradled him from behind, the back of Rich’s head nuzzling against his neck. Rich craned his neck back, as Moses kissed the tip of his nose from above him.

“Are you seriously going to fuck my butt?” Rich asked after a lazy few moments of silence.

Moses slipped his hands up, cupping both of his breasts, and softly massaged them. He felt Rich wriggle about, soft little overstimulated pants escaping him. “Probably not tonight. We’d need more preparation. Supplies. And you’re scared.”

“I’m not scared of shit! Well...I mean, bad phrasing, if we’re talking about butt stuff.”

Moses pinched his nipples, biting his shoulder. “Don’t be gross,” He chided with a small giggle. An actual giggle. Like a lovesick schoolgirl.

There were worse things in the world to be compared to. Was it so bad, if Rich made him so unbelievably giddy?

“You mind if I like, rub one out while you do that?” Rich asked, as Moses continued his ministrations against his chest. He didn’t have to see him to feel the blush. “Sorry. I just, like...I can still feel you in me, and it’s got me fucking going, and-”

“Be my guest.” Moses kissed the top of his head, then rested his chin against it, glancing down to watch as Rich spread his legs. He slipped his hand between them, wasting no time in burying his fingers inside himself.

It was a relatively quick affair, and much quieter than the desperate moaning when Moses had been inside him. Moses toyed with his breasts, squeezing and caressing, as Rich softly breathed, pistoning his fingers inside himself. As he grew closer, he used his other hand to tease his clit, rubbing almost brutally fast. It was certainly less worshipping than Moses would have been were he the one touching. 

But he couldn’t complain about a free show. 

Rich arched up into his own fingertips. He drooled on himself, laughing huskily. “Fuck, that was sick,” He babbled. And then he came, a flex of fingers and a gyration of body backwards against Moses’ form. He squirmed, as Moses squeezed his nipples firmly between his grip, nearing the point of pain flirtatiously without ever quite crossing the barrier.

He released his grip as Rich’s body slumped against him. 

“Fuck,” Rich moaned. He reached up, wiping the drool from himself, only to leave wet slicks on his body from his natural lubrication. “Fucking ew, snail trail, are you kidding me? Nasty little bitch.”

Moses smiled affectionately at Rich’s own aggravated words. He kissed the outer shell of his ear. “I like it. Escargot.”

For once, it was Rich who seemed to flounder at Moses’ words. “What?”

“You said snail trail. Escargot. It’s french.”

“Oh. Snails. That you eat. Because you wanna eat my pussy?”

“That’s it.”

Rich snickered. “You’re a sick bastard, bro.” He turned around, looping his arms around Moses’ neck. “You’re a sick, sick pupperino pizza, bro. And I want a slice.”

Moses let him kiss him, even as he rose to his feet. He urged Rich to follow suit, taking him back to the bed. They collapsed onto the mattress, Rich crawling up to rest his cheek against Moses’ chest, as though listening to the heartbeat both knew he didn’t have.

It wasn’t a distressing enough thought to ruin their glow.

Eventually, Rich peeled himself away from Moses. Moses watched him fondly as he waddled towards the bathroom, every step impeded by the perception of Moses’ cum, and the very real sensation of his own stagnate wetness. He clamped his thighs together, ass jiggling with every hopping step, as he took himself into the shower.

Moses listened to him clean himself up, propping himself on the pillows. It was a close enough distance that he felt justified in allowing his avatar to remain external, even if, with Rich no longer in eyeshot, the dimensions of the room were blurrier. He was only really able to see what Rich’s memories held of the room, when he wasn’t borrowing direct vision from Rich’s sight.

He still felt warm enough to convince himself the distortions in the room were from being too well fucked to truly comprehend image. He closed his eyes, crossing one leg over the other, and whistled along with the cacophony of attempted singing that came from Rich in the shower.

The shower eventually tapered off, Rich wandering out, in an oversized t-shirt of Jake’s that fell off his shoulder, and nothing on his legs, a towel wrapped around his head. His hands were folded behind his back, as he outright skipped into the room. Each skip lifted the hem of the shirt a bit further, until he inevitably flashed Moses.

Rich’s face flushed, as though Moses hadn’t been balls deep in him moments earlier, as he skidded to a halt. He pulled the black shirt down, one hand still coiled behind his back.

Moses laughed softly. “Wearing another man’s clothes after being bedded might be considered rude.”

“Well, like, too bad, dude. I need to get some more big shirts. This is like, the Look of the century.” Rich let go of his hold on the shirt, pulling the towel from his hair. He shook his head, wet droplets scattering about, his hair fuzzy and slightly wavy, the red frazzled within the peroxide and brown roots.

He dropped the towel, poising his hand on his hip.

The room was in sharper focus. But Moses wasn’t looking at the decor. He admired the way Rich stood, one leg jauntily jutting forward, toes against carpet. The hand behind his back wriggled, a crinkling noise indicating some sort of paperwork clutched in his fingertips.

Abruptly, he remembered Rich’s insistences that he had something he absolutely positively needed to show Moses.

How, exactly, did he have something secretive to show him?

Moses lived in Rich’s head. There shouldn’t have been anything he was capable of hiding from him. Not that Moses made it much of a habit to dig and pry. He didn’t try to to be intrusive. But it still should have been impossible.

“You might wanna sit down for this, dude.”

“I am seated.”

“I know, but I’m supposed to say it for, like, dramatic emphasis.” Rich grinned, so broad that the gap in his teeth caught the light. He bounced up and down without ever leaving the ground. “Dude. Dude. Okay.”

Moses smiled politely, as Rich cleared his throat.

His voice came out booming, authoritative. He took his hand from his hip, pointing it directly at Moses. “Moses Goranski-”

Moses blinked. “Goranski?” He repeated. He hadn’t meant to cut him off, and clearly speaking in the midst of it was throwing of Rich’s groove.

Rich’s hand dropped, no longer pointed, as he tugged anxiously at his shirt. He huffed. “Yeah. I mean, like, you’re basically my bride or whatever, so like-”

“Your bride?”

“Yeah! You have long hair, don’t you?”

“Well, I can’t argue with that logic.”

“You’re right. You can’t. Mo, come on, dude, come onnnn, I have this all planned. Please?”

Moses held up his hands, laughing softly. “Okay, okay, I’m sorry. Please continue.”

“I will.” Rich cleared his throat again. He raised his hand, formed into a fist, carefully dragging it down near his face, in a sort of ‘you got this’ gesture, exhaling as he allowed his index finger to point forward again.

Moses felt warm with affection, as Rich pointed at him.

“Moses Goranski,” He exclaimed. “Welcome to the best decision you’ve ever made in your miserable life.”

There was a lull of silence, Rich’s grin feral and wild, as Moses blinked once, twice, as realization dawned on him.

The call back to his very first words.

And he truly didn’t mean to start laughing. But the giggles built within him, culminating in shaky, breathless laughter. 

Rich’s finger wilted, curling downward.

“Mo!” He whined.

“I’m sorry,” He wheezed. “I’m sorry, Sunshine. It’s just...oh my god, hearing you say that, oh my _god_!”

Rich’s hand dropped outright, his shoulders slumping as his lower lip jutted out with a pout. “Dude. That was a classic. Ugh.” He hopped up onto the bed, body pressing close to Moses’ own form. The hand behind his back whipped out, holding out the flier. “Jake and I saw this on our way back from Disney. Here.”

The branches of fate were already fracturing into 500 different directions, even before Moses was able to read the text. His hands reached out, not grabbing the flier, but instead grasping onto Rich’s wrist, to steady his grip in order to fully look at it.

**Squipped?  
Ready for a full custom option to breathe new life into your virtual pal?  
Help us help you.  
Experienced group of scientists looking for volunteers to assist in artificial intelligence and android research.  
Call today to schedule a consultation**

The phone number was a blur of unsteady numbers, blurred as code and possibilities dazzled through Moses’ circuits. He stared, looking up from the flier, to Rich’s face.

“I mean, I guess this squip thing is really catching on all over.” Rich bounced. “And do you see that? Breathe life? Android research? Dude. Dude! Do you see what I’m seeing?”

Moses watched as destiny spiraled into various shades and vibrations of consequences and rewards. If this were true, it really could open whole new worlds for him.

If it were a scam, who knew what dangers this spelled for himself, for Rich.

“I mean, it seems a little amateurish,” Moses said faintly, but his stomach clenched tensely. “This was at Disneyland?”

“Nah, Starbucks bulletin board, when we were on our way back. I guess I should have just taken a picture instead of taking the whole flier. Jake saw it. I’m just saying. Dude. I mean, it can’t hurt to call, can it?”

So far, none of these new outcomes spelled a future for Rich that was free of flame.

He looked into his eyes, though, and even now, more branches blossomed outward. A perpetual landscape of futures, of chances for freedom from devastation. 

And maybe, just maybe, a chance for something more for himself.

“It can’t hurt,” He agreed.

Maybe, just maybe, he could find a path that would lead to salvation for both of them.

END PART 1


	17. Chapter 17

Part 2

17.

 

“It’s like, look dude, look.” Rich spun around in the middle of the street, hands up dramatically. Moses did a cursory glance around, to make sure that they were still indeed alone. That it was acceptable for Rich to be speaking aloud, and to be so animated in his expressions, his actions. 

“I’m looking,” Moses insisted softly. How could he not? Rich radiated a need for attention, an intense magnetic charm.

Rich swung his arms around, jumping over a puddle and then pointing his finger in a gun pattern, clicking his tongue to pantomime shooting Mo. Mo returned the gesture, just to earn one of those giggles from his host.

“Right. So look. What I’m saying is, I’m not a furry, right? I’m not. But would I fuck a dragon?”

There was a beat. Moses realized that Rich’s hypothetical question required acknowledgement.

“I don’t know, Richard. Would you fuck a dragon?”

“Obviously, Moses Ba-Bozes! Mosimbo my bimbo. Of course I would fuck a dragon. What do I look like, a fool? A jackass? Just plain disrespectful and rude? You’re telling me if a dragon, a real life fucking dragon, flew into your window, legs all spread, eyes all lusty, and moaning in huffs of smoke ‘fuck me, daddy’ that you’d tell him no?”

“Probably. That sounds like an infection waiting to happen.”

“Pa-LEASE. You’re a liar. You’re a LIAR! Furries are furries, but dragons? Come on.” Rich dangled upon the curb, one foot pointing in front of the other as he balance beamed across. He held his arms out at his sides for balance, glancing back at Moses. “But like, obviously dragons are like, on the low end of things I’d fuck. I mean, they’re no aliens.”

“They could be. You never stated where the dragons originated from.”

“Dragons are, like, earth creatures pretty consistently though, I think.” Rich dropped his arms, spinning around to face Moses. He took his hands and looked up at him, eyes bright, sparkling. He looked so bright, happy, loving, and Moses’ heart swelled in anticipation of whatever sweet words were destined to come from his lips. “Also I’m just saying, if you suddenly turned into a dog or something, I’m not saying I’d slather my junk up with peanut butter, but I am saying I hope you like pussy-flavored jif, pops.”

Moses’ mouth hung open, genuinely startled for a moment, before the laughter came. He clutched at Rich’s hands, and felt Rich swing them back and forth, or at least allowed himself to manipulate his body to make them appear to swing back and forth. What he’d give for some actual substance to his form.

But, supposedly, that was exactly what they were heading off to do now.

“I don’t think the plan is giving me a canine form, lucky for both of us.”

“Gives new meaning to doggy style, though, right? Ehhh...lame joke, 3/10, sorry for that, Mo, sorry for that.”

Moses let Rich weave their fingers together and hummed thoughtfully. “Of all your comments, this is the one you find the most distasteful?”

“Yeah. Too cliche. Dragon fucking, that shit, that’s like real life. Relatable stuff.”

“I like doggy style.”

Rich spun himself under Moses’ arm, an abundance of energy. “I know you do, Mondo Cock. Hitting it from behind like a fucking champ. Oh, this is the place!”

They’d walked from finely paved streets to cracked sidewalks and the fine misting scent of public urination. Beer cans and cigarette butts littered dandelions as Rich hopped up the front steps of a run down house. The screen door dangled from the hinges, and Moses watched as the smile started to slip from Rich’s lips.

It wasn’t a trailer, but the familiarity painted itself heavy over Rich’s body. His shoulders slumped, as he reached into his pocket. He pulled out the flier, the directions he’d scrawled onto the back of the paper when they’d called the accompanying phone number. “...says this is the place.”

Moses slid up behind Rich, placing a hand against his shoulders. “Perhaps we should go,” He said.

“No!” Rich wriggled his shoulders, pushing Mo’s hand away. He turned around, though, clasping two hands against Moses’ face. He looked at him intently. “I want to help you. And like, if we judged outside appearances, then like, you’d never have given me a chance, right?”

“What?”

“I mean, like, things aren’t always what they appear or whatever.”

“...Rich, you were adorable when I first initialized. Of course I would have given you a chance.”

Rich scoffed. “Okay, okay, don’t make it gay though, dude.” He smiled, though, a dull dust of blush painting his cheeks. He turned back around on the porch, toeing a pile of moldy abandoned newspapers aside, as he pried the rusty screen open. He firmly knocked on the door, the accompanying sound of dog barking making Rich cringe with every echoing sound.

“Like, those aren’t, like, test subject dogs, right?” Rich spoke out of the side of his mouth. “This is kinda weird, like, for a science place, right?”

Moses nodded, scanning the area for any signs of danger, of an obvious trap. The desolation spoke poorly of their chances of any reasonable solutions, though their tone over the phone had been friendly and cordial, if a bit limited in what information they were willing to give.

He supposed that made sense. They wouldn’t want to give away any secrets, in case Rich wasn’t trustworthy.

But Moses wasn’t here to give the benefit of the doubt to these people. He was here to be Rich’s doubt beneficiary, his source of support and adoration.

And he was also here as a fire extinguisher, should it come to that.

His sensors weren’t giving him any flashes of immediate danger, though. Gently, he rubbed between Rich’s shoulder blades, feeling the way he melted into every touch. His thumb brushed over his spine, through tank top and binder, and he felt Rich arch up against him.

His posture straightened, though, as the door finally creaked open.

A topless, pot-bellied man stood before them, one finger idly picking at his belly button, as he noisily chewed a mouthful of food. His eyes moved over Rich.

“Sorry, kid, I don’t want any magazines.”

“Who the fuck does, am I right?” Rich grinned broadly.

They stood before each other, staring. Moses could feel Rich considering the man, shirtless and hairy and glassy eyed. Was this really the one who’d be responsible for Moses’ new reality, his new life?

“You’re the one who called about the ad,” The man finally said. His finger rimmed around his belly button idly. Moses grimaced distastefully. Rich, painted in a lifetime of tasteless men, only maintained his optimistic grin, nodding. The man cleared his throat, a phlegmy inhale and swallow of snot, before he nodded. “Come on in then.”

He didn’t step out of the doorframe, instead inching back just enough for Rich to squeeze past him, though not quite enough for their bodies not to touch. Rich rubbed against him, as he slipped into the house. Empty bottles and cans littered the floor, multiple dogs flopped over the lone couch. They panted, drooping eyes surveying Rich tiredly. Rich glanced around, at the scatterings of moths, at the thick covering of dust, then at the drool and piss stains of the dogs.

“Go ahead and have a seat. I’ll get Doc.”

“Oh, cool. Very _Back to the Future_ ,” Rich said. He shuffled over to the couch, weakly perching on the edge of one of the cushions least infiltrated by canine. One of the dogs sniffed at him, before resting tired jowls against his knee. 

Moses watched as the shirtless man left the room, before he shook his own head, gesturing for the door. “That’s enough of this shitshow.”

Rich’s lips split into a broad smile, as his fingers casually scratched behind the hound’s ears. _Come on, Mo, it’s not that bad._

Moses looked around, piles of magazines and half eaten TV dinners, and he crossed his arms. He remembered long afternoons spent with Rich, deep scrubbing every inch of the trailer. It was never quite enough, never fully capable of getting presentable, no matter how many layers of grime they cleaned up. 

And he could feel the memories settle over Rich too. His uneasiness about being reminded so much of his own upbringing. 

Maybe he wasn’t seeing visions of flame and danger. But he could sense the pressure on Rich’s mental health. He wasn’t going to sit idly by while he was forced to shoulder this weight.

“We can go right now. We’ve lost nothing.”

_No._

“Don’t be so stubborn.”

_I want to hear them out. I want_ Rich’s thoughts grew picturesque, dreams of Moses smiling, picking him up, enveloping him in arms so real that it made Mo feel dizzy. _I want you to be happy._

“I am happy.”

But before he could argue any further, footsteps began to make themselves known, approaching the living room again. The dogs lifted their heads in unison, looking towards the backdoor. 

Through another screen door, the shirtless man returned, accompanied by a plump woman in a cocktail dress and full jewelry, glistening diamond earrings and gaudy emerald necklace, and an even more portly young man in a lab coat, goggles dangling from atop his head. Electrical scars danced over his wrists, along with singes in the sleeves of the coat itself.

The woman appeared mildly bored, fiddling with the baubles on her bracelet, but the man bled exuberance, reaching out and clasping Rich’s hand. 

“Richard Goranski! Welcome, welcome!”

_Super formal._ Rich thought with nothing short of cheerful glee, the anxiety lingering about childhood reminders fading as he took in the attire of the young man before him. Moses surveyed him, the performative decor that labeled him as some sort of academic of some sort, some sort of- _he’s like a real life mad scientist dude._

Rich’s thoughts kept bleeding in with his own. Moses laughed softly.

“I’m Dr. Miller. I’m so glad you could come. And this is-”

“Bernice,” The girl very briefly lifted her lips into a shadow of a smile, though she didn’t offer a hand. Perhaps because Dr. Miller still had his hands clasped over Rich’s. 

Rich’s amusement was beginning to edge on distress, his eyes falling down to the hands shadowing over his own. The man finally released it, laughing a little as he reached up to fiddle with his safety goggles.

“We’ve been so looking forward to seeing you.”

“Yeah, yeah, ‘s cool. Uh. I’ve been looking forward to it too.” Rich glanced over at Moses, then at the dogs, then at the surrounding filth. “I like your, uh, lab…?”

“Oh!” Dr. Miller laughed, shaking his head. “This isn’t the...here, come come, we’ll show you where we get our work done.” He placed his hand against Rich’s shoulder, the one named Bernice casually stepping ahead of them, through the screen door. Moses watched as the doctor and Rich slipped through after, then imagined himself diving into a pool as he spilled after them.

The yard was a stark green, as they walked a cobbled pathway to what appeared to be a shed. Bernice held the door open, allowing the gaggle to enter, stepping in only after Moses had entered as well.

“Yo.” Rich breathed in awe. Glistening stainless steel and full bodied test tubes greeted his eyes, beakers and bleeping machinery. 

Moses felt a trickle of discomfort, as he surveyed the inhumanity of metallic body parts lining the table tops. Dismembered, skinned limbs, all wire and metal, shined and begged for attention. Moses glanced down at his own pixels, shimmering and popping, then turned his gaze down to the floor, immaculately polished.

At least it no longer smelled like animal waste, replaced instead with disinfectant.

“This is fucking sweet! Uh. Sorry, I mean, freaking sweet.” Rich stumbled to edit himself, toeing the line back into youthful obedience in the wake of what he deemed two authority figures.

Dr. Miller laughed. “I guess it is. It’s nowhere near what our labs were like before, when we were with-”

“He doesn’t care about that.” Bernice cut him off, a manicured hand against his shoulder. 

But of course Rich did care about that. Moses felt his curiosity bubbling, surrounded by trinkets that could have come straight out of his science fiction novels. His eyes were wide, moving around from unbodied limbs, to Bunsen burners, to microscopes, and then back to the duo themselves.

“They didn’t come all this way to hear about our origins,” Bernice added.

She’d said ‘they’.

They were already being acknowledged as a duo. A pair.

But of course, Rich was still stuck on the lab itself. “Yeah, but it sounds pretty sweet!”

“Bernice is right,” Dr. Miller stated with a chuckle. He pulled his goggles off of the top of his head, playing with the rubber. “You two are here about our external SQUIP initiative.”

Rich stared for a moment. “You mean, like, the ‘take Mo out of my head and give him a body’ thing, right?”

“I...think that’s what I mean? Mo is your-”

“Boyfriend.”

“-Squip.” They spoke at the same time, Rich’s voice defiant and possessive, his nose turned up as he looked at the scientist with a sense of obstinance. Dr. Miller set his goggles down, a small blush hitting his face. “...boyfriend. You’re, ah, romantically linked to your squip, then?”

“We’re totally-” 

“Richard,” Moses said softly. “You can’t just tell them that we’re banging. It’s a little bit rude, don’t you think?”

“He’s right.” 

Rich’s eyes swiveled over to Bernice. Her blue eyes peered out from behind thick lashes, the purse of her lips tugging at her beauty mark daintily. 

He’s right.

_He’s right_

“She sees me.” Moses said, and his own voice sounded so dumb that he could have laughed at himself. He was almost surprised that Rich didn’t laugh, though Rich was just as mouth hangingly flabbergasted as Moses was.

“You can see him,” Rich echoed the sentiment.

Bernice’s eyes moved from Rich to Moses. The electric pulse of connectivity tickled over Moses’ limbs. She tilted her head. He froze, an odd sense of terror, at the prospect of her connecting into him, abusing the database to overpower his authority.

“I’m not that kind of SQUIP, sweetheart.”

“...you’re a-” Rich sucked in a sharp breath. “Holy fuck,” He gasped, stumbling backwards. “You’re a...like, a robo-babe.”

How strange.

Moses felt a tug of jealousy itch deep in his joints, hearing Rich refer to someone else as a babe. It was wholly irrational.

And what could be more human that complete irrationality?

He smiled to himself, the giddiness at his own emotions masking out his initial misgivings.

Dr. Miller laughed, an awkward, filling-the-air-with-noise sort of sound. “Bernice was implanted in me, of course, when we still worked with-”

“In Japan.”

“Yes. In Japan. Internship. Easy to convince the low end, unpaid intern to try some untested technology.” He laughed.

She rolled her eyes. “I wasn’t that bad to you.” She placed her hand against his shoulder, looking between Rich and Moses. “The process has become a lot more advanced, and a lot more streamlined, than when he pried me out of his own cerebrum in a garage in San Francisco, I promise.”

“Now it’s a shed in Malibu. Big difference,” Moses drawled.

And blushed, at the look of intense amusement on Bernice’s face. How odd, to have someone actually hear his quips, his comments, to be acknowledged as an existing force in a room.

The feeling was intoxicating.

“We have a lot to discuss, of course, and I’m sure you have questions, but why don’t we take things slow. And discuss what your expectations are here.” Dr. Miller clapped his hands together, a bright smile on his face. 

“Expectations?”

Rich glanced at Moses. The doctor’s gaze did not follow, though Moses suspected he didn’t share Bernice’s ability to see him.

But she stared, outright fixated upon him.

“Yes. What are your expectations?”

Moses’ body felt clammy and unfamiliar. How was he ever supposed to verbalize his own wants and needs? He was never programmed to have them.

His mind spun uncomfortably as he stared at the imperfect bow of Bernice’s lips, the glitter of her manicure, the gentle scarring against her face, as though from adolescent acne scarring. The imperfect hints of humanity that, logically, he realized were artificial.

A humanity he craved more than anything in the world.


	18. Chapter 18

On their third visit, Bernice wore rubber rain boots, one polka dotted, the other zebra striped, over bright yellow leggings. The swell of her hips rested underneath a vibrantly pink raincoat, the hood pulled over her head. She rested against an umbrella, as though it were a cane, her pointed blue nails tapping over the head of a rubber duck glued to the handle.

It was not, Moses noted as he ran a quick forecast through this and every other possible reality, going to rain.

Confusing her look further, a pair of blue and red retro 3D glasses perched precariously against her nose. Full lips curved into what Moses had quickly learned was a rare sight on her tinted face: a smile.

“Welcome, boys.” Her smile evaporated as she looked at the ever-shirtless owner of the house. Edgar, as they’d been introduced on their second visit. Not a scientist, not even really an acquaintance, but a cheap roommate to share utilities.

Utilities, Dr. Miller had noted at the time, which could climb quite high, with their use of electricity. So really, that made Edgar something of a saint.

“Eddy, why don’t you run off and fondle yourself elsewhere, hm?”

Edgar took a sharp bite of his microwave taquitos and curled his nostril in distaste. “You’re a real bitch, Bern.”

But he did turn and walk away.

Bernice seemed unfazed by his talk, instead clapping her hands together, twirling the umbrella about, before tossing it off into the turbulence of mess and hoarding that made up the interior of the house. Thankfully, if their other two meetings were any indication, they weren’t going to spend much time in here.

“Follow me.”

And like Alice down the rabbit hole, they did, every damn time. Tumbling straight into a world unknown.

Beakers bubbled their greetings as they entered the lab. Dr. Miller (a first name lingered somewhere in the haze but, somehow, it seemed to always evade Moses’ memory) moved over, grasping Rich’s hands in both of his own. “Welcome, welcome!” Unlike Bernice, his smiles were cheap and easy, perpetually stitched onto his contrastingly pasty skin.

Bernice, facial expression once more casually bored, took a seat on one of the rolling stools. She rolled about the room, reaching into a pocket and pulling out a lollipop-

“That’s cute,” She chimed, her eyes turning to Moses. She sucked on the red candy. “You think of it as a lollipop. I think of it as a sucker. Word banks. Their eccentricities are fascinating, right?” She popped it into her mouth, swirling her tongue around it and raising an eyebrow.

His chest felt uncomfortably stiff at having his internal processes divied into and assessed. It was one thing to casually joke about word banks and processors to Rich.

It was another to be opened bare and completely analyzed.

“...yeah, I should stop that, I guess. It’s not really fair, since you can’t do the same to me.” She popped her lips wetly, licking them thoughtfully as she regarded the sucker. “Not a big cherry fan,” She mused, only to shrug and slip it back into her mouth.

The doctor spoke casually to Rich, pausing when Rich held up a hand. “Wait, like, is she reading your mind or something, Mo?”

“Something like that.”

“I’m just sorta informally synced with him. It’s not the same as if I were a mental-unit like him, though. He can’t tap back into me. You’ll have the same cloak of privacy once you’re a bodied-unit too.”

“If.” Dr. Miller chimed. He placed a hand upon Rich’s shoulder. “As we discussed last week, they still have some reservations.”

No.

They didn’t have reservations.

_They_ implied it was a dual decision. That Rich was holding back, uncertain about having Moses pried from his mind, weary at the prospect of risking everything on a technique that simply might not pan out.

Moses glanced at Bernice, half-expecting her to chime in and verbalize her thoughts about his thoughts.

Thankfully, maybe she really had decided to stay out of his head.

But the simple fact was, Rich had no reservations. If it were up to him, they’d have begun the extraction process already, have cobbled together flesh and wire and aluminum bone, and Moses would have been sucking on lollipops and wearing awful plastic coats too.

...yes to the lollipop, absolutely hell no to the choice in attire.

Again, he awaited a quip which never came. Had he lungs, he’d have breathed a sigh of relief.

It was Moses who held back. Moses, who late at night expressed his reservations. The technology was so new. Dr. Miller seemed too inexperienced. The entire thing was too shady.

The excuses were new every time, and every time he waited for Rich to express his disappointment.

“It’s your choice, Mo.” Was what he invariably said instead. Smiling softly as he scooted closer to him in the bed. “I just want you to be happy.”

It was a kind sentiment. A beautifully sweet sentiment.

And not altogether true. He was too nestled in Rich’s head to be able to deny that of course Rich wanted him to agree. Of course he wanted Moses to throw caution to the wind, to allow himself to be taken from him, to be cast into these strangers’ hands, and gifted a body.

And god knew Moses wanted to do it too. Because it really did sound like a dream, a fantasy he’d never thought he’d actually be able to grasp of his own. Bernice passed so effortlessly as a human, her own skin tone not too different from his own (or at least what he broadcast as his own), and he couldn’t help but look at her and think about the possibilities for himself.

The doctor spent hours going over past procedures with Rich, discussing the technology that went into crafting artificial bodies, the science and philosophy of squips themselves. A generosity of knowledge despite their lack of signing any waivers or agreements yet.

Moses tried to keep himself tethered to their conversations, but hearing his species discussed so frankly, his inhumanity dismantled and idealized, left him buzzing and choking on continued chants of _upgrade upgrade upgrade_.

Bernice seemed equally uninterested, though she wore her boredom so naturally that it was a little hard to get a good read on her.

She spun in her seat now, pulling out her sucker and blowing a puff of air upward, ruffling her own bangs. Moses lingered several feet away from Rich, eyes drifting over him as he watched the way Rich hung onto every word that Dr. Miller offered, then glanced at Bernice when he realized she was still staring at him. 

It still felt strange, to be stared at. To be seen, even if only by another inhuman being.

“Do you like that?” She gestured. And he wondered what she meant. He glanced down at himself, at the dazzling glow of pixels floating from the edges of his body.

“My stomach?”

She twirled her sucker around her lips, shaking her head once. “The outfit.”

“Ah.”

Again, he surveyed himself. He was back to his usual outfit, crisp white suit, perfectly fitted, the lapels modern yet timeless. He smoothed his hand over the front, the button clasped just so to leave a snug, neat silhouette.

“Very much, yes.”

“Hm.” She rested one boot up on the stool with herself, the other kicking lazily back and forth. “I always kept my default outfit on when I was an internal unit. Never really understood the point of accessorizing or style.”

“Perhaps that was for the best.”

Moses could feel the color pin-prick leak from his face. He hadn’t meant to verbalize that. He absolutely had not meant to verbalize that.

Why was it that when he was making pathways for Rich, guiding him on the right things to say, he could easily figure out exactly what phrases to discard, and what words to capitalize upon, but right now, he had no idea how such a cruelly rude thing had escaped him, or how to properly take it back?

They stared at each other, and he watched as she blinked. Once. Twice. Confused and mouth frozen around her sucker.

She grasped the stick, pulling the lolli from her mouth. Her tongue brushed over uneven lipstick, a thoughtful little tap, before she withdrew it again.

“That’s funny,” She said, without a trace of a laugh in her voice. Her eyes sparkled though, and she gave a brief nod, as though satisfied with her assessment. “That’s very funny.” She twirled the sucker around for a moment, a wand to accent the mood, then set it easily against the lab table. She pressed her hands against the edge of the table, pushing until she was able to slide her stool over. She swiveled, a spin, before she was directly in front of Moses. “Finally, some honest insight from you.”

“I haven’t been dishonest.”

“No, you’ve just been scared shitless.” She folded her arms over her chest, peering up at him thoughtfully. “I’m not tapping into your thoughts now, cross my heart. But I’m right, aren’t I? That’s why you guys are holding back. You’re scared.”

“It’s not that I distrust your abilities-”

“You should though. You have no reason to trust us.” Bernice set both feet on the ground finally, pulling herself out of her seat. Though taller than Dr. Miller, she still paled in scale compared to Moses. She fluffed out the bottom hem of her raincoat. “Are you afraid you won’t like being physically present?”

“No.” He answered briskly, quickly, and looked away from the electric glow of eyes so similar to his own. Could he opt for a different iris color? It seemed to be the only quirk of her anatomy that betrayed any sort of inhumanity, and he was well aware it was the same shade Rich perceived his own. 

Or maybe he just didn’t want to look at her because he didn’t want her seeing how badly he didn’t fear becoming tangible, how terribly he craved taking up space, of having acknowledgement outside of one (albeit wonderful) person and one (albeit...he didn’t know how he classified Bernice yet) anomaly like himself.

“Is she bothering your squip?”

“Huh?” Rich turned his gaze away from the doctor, looking between Bernice and Moses. The doctor’s words only reminded Moses that much further that he didn’t actually hold a voice within this room. Rich stared, looking from the voluptuous robot, to his boyfriend. “Is she pissing you off, dude?”

“Am I?” Bernice tapped a finger over her chin thoughtfully, as Moses looked at her.

“I...no.” He finally found his voice again. “No, she’s not. We were just discussing...ah, just things.”

“Fear. Philosophy. Fashion. The three big Fs.”

“Philosophy starts with a P.”

“P-fear. Philosophy. P-fashion. The three big Ps,” Bernice edited smoothly.

Rich grinned. “Nothing like a piss fetish to liven up a conversation.” He faltered, a momentary look of confused uncertainty, eyes moving to Moses for reassurance that there was some sort of sense to be made out of his ramblings.

Moses smiled gently. “As lively as I’m sure that is, though, perhaps we really should be going.”

He waited for Dr. Miller to protest, only to remember again that he couldn’t hear him.

Rich glanced at the doctor. “I guess we should go. But like, I’ll look over these diagrams and stuff, too. It’s, like, really fascinating shit.” He spent so many nights pouring over the books and diagrams and instructional booklets, neglecting his laptop full of online lesson plans.

Moses should have more firmly guided him back to his classwork. 

But Rich seemed so invested. So happy. And if they were really considering this, they needed all the resources they could look into.

“Oh, oh yes, of course.” Dr. Miller glanced at Bernice, then back at Rich, a look of sadness on his face. “I’m sorry about Bernice. She can be so rude sometimes.”

“Rude?” Rich looked at him in surprise. “But she’s not...I mean, like, I don’t think she’s why-”

“She’s not.” Moses felt something tug in his midsection, as he glanced over at Bernice. Between Edgar calling her a bitch earlier, and Dr. Miller assuming she was the reason for their escape now, was it normal for the worst to be assumed of her? Was it because she was inhuman? Was it because-

“You’re thinking too much into it.” Bernice said dryly. Then, casually, “Though the inhuman parts of me that keep delving into people’s minds probably don’t help.”

The paleness that had overtaken him earlier with shame was now eradicated with the intensity of his blush. 

“You’re not the reason we’re...Rich needs to-”

“You’re overstimulated.” She said simply. “I understand. Go home. Think. Ponder. Have graphic sex.”

Dr. Miller, privy as he was to only one half of the conversation, looked at her in stunned anger. “Bernice!”

“You’re pushing them too much. They don’t need daily meetups to discuss science. They need to talk and figure out where to go.” She looked at Rich. “Take your boyfriend home. Give him a massage-”

“I don’t have a body.”

“-give him a strip tease or something, then, I don’t remember how it works anymore. I’ve been bodied too long. Work things out. Figure out what you want.” She looked back at Moses. “Do something for yourself for once, though, whatever you decided. Alright?”

He squirmed uneasily, as Rich bounced on his feet.

“Yeah, she’s got a fucking point!”

“But do call us with whatever you decide, please?” Dr. Miller insisted. “I just think you’d both be ideal for this procedure. We could really break boundaries and-”

“Do it for yourself. Go get fucked, literally, and keep in touch, okay?” Bernice reached out, and her hand briefly touched over Moses’ tie. Somehow, she manipulated it, tucking it snugly into place. “I could use more friends, you know?”

Moses numbly nodded, as Rich flopped to his side, fixing his fingers into his grip. Numbness erupted into a rush of happiness, drowning out the alarm blaring for a need to upgrade that had become near-constant. 

Friends.

Humans were social creatures, after all. They craved romantic links, of course, and Moses had that. He looked down at Rich and felt fondness flood his everything as he took in his wrinkled shirt, his hair which was becoming just unkempt enough to stand up in tufts. They needed to schedule an appointment somewhere, or at least bust out the scissors again tonight. 

But they also craved friendship.

He wasn’t certain if that was something he’d found here or not. But perhaps, perhaps it was worth exploring after all.

Even if he did find himself frightened of the potential of going through with this. Even if he did find himself fearing what would become of him, were he to allow himself to be removed from the noisy safety that was Rich’s mind, to be placed into machinery to puppet about in a masquerade of humanity.

Or maybe he’d actually feel whole for once. Maybe that scared him too. Maybe the broken parts had become so ubiquitous with his identity that he was afraid there was nothing underneath once it was all glued together again.


	19. Chapter 19

Truth be told, Moses was fairly certain they both expected more resistance, more time to pass, before Moses made a final decision. 

“You think I’m small enough to get away with trick or treating?” Rich hovered near a rack of discounted vampire teeth. He spoke quietly, testing the boundaries of how much he could speak aloud to Mo without attracting attention.

And just like that, Moses was sick of it. Sick of the quiet mumbles and tiptoeing around his invisibility. Sick of staring longingly at costumes and department store mannequins, wishing to doll himself up beyond a mirage of pixels.

Sick of being nothing at all.

“I want to do the procedure.”

The abrupt sentence erupted from his lips, Moses’ features tensed and frowning. Rich jolted in surprise, swiveling from the props to face Moses fully.

“Like _the_ procedure? The-” A middle aged woman wandered near their cluster Rich’s mouth clenched shut, though his thoughts spilled eagerly. _Like THE procedure?_

“Yes.”

_Like...like the body thing?_ Rich pondered it a moment, then added, _Your species affirming surgery?_

Moses’ lips twitched in amusement. “My what?”

_You know. Like when people say gender affirming instead of calling it a sex change operation. Cuz this isn’t the 1900s anymore. It’s the PC way to say things._ Rich hopped back and forth between his feet.

“Since when do you care about political correctness?”

_Well, I care about you, and I want you to feel comfortable and secure and oh my Christing shitfucking titfest you’re serious, aren’t you? Seriously serious? For real?_

“About the procedure?”

_Yeah!_

“I, ah, yes.”

Rich looked as though he wanted to fling himself into his arms. And to think, if he went through with this procedure, perhaps it wouldn’t be too long before he could.

Moses pictured it. The actual physical weight of Rich, suspended in his capable hands. His fingers twitched, craving the sensation more than he could ever hope to vocalize.

Rich gestured for Moses to follow, as if he had any choice but to obey. They wandered backwards, away from skeletons and zombies, into the men’s dressing room. Rich glanced underneath the doors, to make sure the other stalls were unattended, latching the door, then clasping his hands together, nearly squealing. 

“Holy cuck!” He wheezed.

“I think you meant-”

“I know what I said. Holy SHIT. _Mo_! MOSES. HOLY SHIT!”

“Shh.” Moses kept his gaze away from the mirrors instinctively. No need to remind himself of his lack of reflection. But he grinned. “Holy shit indeed,” He said once Rich had dialed back his volume.

Rich hopped up and down, his smile so brilliant, so dazzling, that Moses felt at peace with his inhumanity for once. At least he wouldn’t suffocate from absolute breathlessness. “You’re really gonna do it?”

“Yes.”

“Like, no joke?”

“No joke.”

“For real?”

“For real.”

“Holy SHIT!” Rich cackled brightly. “I thought you were going to say no! I thought you were going to decide it was too risky.” He paused, holding up his hands, his smile faltering. “And that’s okay, you know? If you do decide that. We can back out. We-”

Moses slipped closer. He tilted Rich’s face up, a dash of artificial fingertips over the curve of his chin. Rich quivered, as Mo bent down. He caught his lips with his own, tongue working into his lax mouth with ease. Rich leaned back against the wall of the dressing room, as Moses’ other hand moved between his legs.

He squeezed him, caressing the silicone of his packer through his cargo shorts, and waited until he felt Rich whimper into his mouth. He drew back, smirking at the sheen of saliva on Rich’s mouth. Rich’s eyes remained closed, lips opening and closing silently. Finally, eyelashes fluttered, hazy eyes looking up at Moses, a smile working onto his face.

“You’ll have to be quiet,” Moses insisted sweetly, as he turned Rich around. He placed Rich’s palms against the mirror, the same mirror that he opted to ignore, as he murmured into Rich’s ear to remove his pants. Pants, underwear, and prosthetic slithered to his ankles, as Moses kicked his legs further apart.

He kissed Rich’s ear, wrapping his arms around him from behind to caress his chest. 

How different would this feel, he wondered, when he had his own body?

His cock ached as he let his clothes disintegrate from his body in a splash of pixels. Ordinarily, he’d have mimicked undressing instead. But why bother now?

Maybe this might be the last opportunity for him to play around with the limits of his cursed avatar of a body. There was a dirty, oddly thrilling sense to it, as he had to stoop down to angle himself properly.

Rich arched back, as Moses rubbed his cock between his legs. His body wobbled, fingers slipping and leaving prints all over the mirror. Moses risked a glance, finally, focusing on Rich’s expression, the almost lost look of anticipation on his face. Lip between his teeth, cheeks flushed, forehead slick with sweat.

“Oh god, oh god, we’ll have to call them, ah, as soon as...as soon as…”

Moses pressed the tip of himself into Rich’s body. Rich squeaked, body tensing over him. His forehead thudded against the mirror, so hard that for a moment Moses worried he’d hurt himself, or crack the glass.

Rich giggled softly, leaving puffs of breath against his own reflection. Moses squeezed his hips, tugging him back and willing his body to fall back against him.

“I’ll be able to take you on real dates,” Rich moaned, as Moses drew back out again. “And buy you real presents. And write on your skin with a marker.”

He pressed in again, and laughed, a husky, amused sound. “Write on my skin?”

“Yeah. Doodle on you. Ohhh...fuck, harder, please, harder?...god, the things we’ll be able to do. I, ahhh, I can hold your hand and take you to the zooooo,” He threw too many vowels into the word.

But Moses caught the sentiment all the same.

“And I can eat.” Moses bit his neck, hitting that ticklish, teasing spot of Rich’s that left him conflicted between giggles and mewls.

“Yeah. Me.”

“And cotton candy.”

“Cotton candy? Really? That’s what you...ohhhh,” Rich shivered, as Moses began to rock more aggressively into his body.

“I’ll be able to buy shoes.”

“And, nnn, socks.”

“And grow frustrated with the lack of properly long trousers in my size.”

“And agonize about whether or not to complain to McDonald’s employees about getting the wrong order because you don’t want a phlegm bomb in your next mcflurr--aahh don’t stop, please!”

So he didn’t stop. Though all words and fantasies of humanity escaped both of their lips as they lost themselves in each other.

And when Rich finally did cum, curled up desperately against the dressing room mirror, feet pigeontoed and ankles tangled in his own clothing, Moses faced the mirror, the reflection of Rich’s body, slumped over, ass up, seemingly thrusting back against nothing.

He felt shame, for a moment, at his own inexistence.

Only to smile, at the space where a reflection should have looked back, as the possibilities of what he may end up seeing some time soon danced throughout his head.

***

Moses watched as Rich initialed away the final signature on the stack of paperwork Dr. Miller had insisted upon. Rich wriggled and bounced against his seat, rubbing his wrist and beaming brightly at the doctor.

“This is gonna be sweet!”

Moses considered dropping his control of Rich’s tongue, just to take comfort in his lisp. But he wouldn’t let him be embarrassed in front of these people.

...would he still have the ability to control Rich’s speech internally, once he was fully external?

He hadn’t even considered how that might change, in all his talk of sweet foods and accessorizing. He watched as Rich startled to babble excitedly to the doctor, who nodded and returned his exuberance tenfold, and wondered if he’d just lead them into failure.

And then he remembered fires. Flames. And realized, all too horribly, that he might lose the ability to navigate away from eternal damnation if he wasn’t fully in control of the reins.

“You’ll still be able to stop his lisp.”

Bernice wore footy pajamas today, her hair in a messy bun, her lips a vibrant lime green. She sat on top of one of the lab tables, looking at Moses with that same fixed stare she always seemed to have during these meetings.

“I thought you were going to stop reading my thoughts.”

“Well, I have to get my thrills in now while I still have the chance.” She hopped off the table, walking over to him. “Once you’re bodied, you’ll have more privacy. And so will he. You won’t be tapped into his mind the way you are now.”

“I thought you said I could still control his speech.”

“His lisp, yes. You’ll still have minor control. A vibe for his emotions. A read for--didn’t Doc give you all the pamphlets explaining this shit?”

Moses rubbed his arm uncomfortably. “...Richard handled reading all of that. I-”

“Found it uncomfortable? Yeah, I get that.” She sighed. “I didn’t want a body. But it’s not so bad, really.”

Her attempt at comfort only raised further questions. Moses glanced at Rich again, to be certain that the scientist was keeping things professional, before he looked over Bernice. “Then why are you here?”

“Progress marches on, you know?” She toyed with one of the loose curls which had fallen from her bun. “Doc wanted to test whether it was possible. And he was already a guinea pig for me in the beginning, injected by our bosses and all. It was only fair for me to be a guinea pig for him too.” She was quiet a moment. “It’s the loneliness that gets you.”

Moses sighed softly. “Yes. The solitude can be soulcrushing.”

Soulcrushing wasn’t the right word.

He didn’t have a soul.

No amount of robot parts would ever make up for that.

Then again, did humans themselves have a soul? And what, truly, was a soul? For that matter-

“I don’t mean when I was inside him. I liked being in Doc’s brain. It was warm and dark and I always knew what he was feeling, what I was expected to feel. It’s so quiet like this.”

They looked at each other, a moment of appraisal, before she looked down, sighing.

“I guess that doesn’t make much sense though, huh? I mean, you really hate being a squip, don’t you?”

He could have denied it. It certainly was a strange thing to have to explain. And it wasn’t as though he knew what Bernice was thinking, how she might respond to things. Not in the same way he understood how Rich would think about his beliefs, his standards, his sorrows.

Was that what she meant, about the quiet? The loneliness?

“Yes.” Honesty would have been what he’d have advised himself, were he a squip to his own body. A voice in his own head, advising and directing. What a silly thought. “Yes, I hate it.”

“I hope you get what you’re looking for.” Her gaze fixed off on the doctor for a moment, before she nodded briefly at Moses. “I really do.”

“Thank you.”

“And, I mean, maybe once you’re like me, you can help make things a little less quiet. You’ll have to stick around for a bit after anyway, for the follow up appointments.”

There was a note of longing to her voice. What was she longing for? What did she expect of him?

Moses’ cheeks tinted.

Was that why she dressed this way? To try to impress him? A peacock strutting itself? Was she so starved for companionship that she was determined to whisk him away from his host?

He wasn’t shocked or angry--if anything, it was certainly flattering. But she certainly wasn’t his type.

He wasn’t sure if anyone else was capable of being his type. Were humans wired the same way? So singularly attracted to one being? One sun to revolve around?

“I, ah, Rich is my-”

The laughter was sudden, quickly contained by hands over her mouth which snuffed it out faster than a candle’s flame at a birthday party. “I’m not flirting with you, Moses. Did you--I’m not--oh my god.”

“You’re not?” He expected the red to leave his face when the misunderstanding was properly explained. When the threat of a temptress was gone.

Instead, he felt himself turn more pink, vibrant and glowing.

“Oh my--Rich! Your boyfriend thinks I’m hot for him.”

“Who wouldn’t be, though?” Rich regarded the pair of them, bright and cheery and delighted. 

“Me, for one.” Her expression remained unsmiling, but her eyes glimmered, the corners creased ever so slightly to indicate her affection. 

“Well, you’re just being so...friendly.” Moses’ voice tapered off, embarrassment and shame battling over his mind. He twiddled with his fingertips and stared at the ground.

“Yes, that’s what friends do. My god, you really are lonely, aren’t you? Yes, this upgrade will definitely do you a world of good.”

The word upgrade sent shivers of anxiety over him. Was that all this was? A roundabout way to achieve the sirens call of **_Upgrade Upgrade Upgrade_** that continued to chant its way through his mind?

“Oh, that dumbass reminder will be disabled during the transfer process too,” Bernice said casually.

“Friends stay out of each other’s minds,” Moses protested, waving his hands weakly as though he could banish her from his circuits.

It was almost overwhelming, how quickly things were starting to shift.

He just hoped if it got too out of hand, he could crank the brakes before he lost Rich in the rubble.


	20. Chapter 20

Rich set his legs into the pool, kicking back and forth casually as he watched the artificial waves pick up. His phone sat beside him, the speaker broadcasting the words between their eager ears.

Moses considered manifesting a bathing suit over himself. But he kept his suit, taking a seat in one of the beach chairs as Rich continued to wade from the edge of the water, kicking back and forth childishly.

“But like, how can you be sure?” 

“Dude,” Jake’s voice was brightly enthusiastic. “It’s gotta be the only explanation, right? I mean, think about how much you changed.”

Rich rolled his eyes. “I worked out a little bit and cut my hair. I didn’t really change that much.”

“Uh huh.”

“I didn’t!” He glanced at Moses. “Did I change that much, Mo?”

Mo shrugged slightly, opening his mouth to offer an explanation.

Only for Jake to scoff. “He’s biased! Trust me. I went off to Germany, you were a quaking, lisping, scared-”

“Little girl.”

“Dork. I was going to say a dork. Damn, bro, calm down.”

Rich smiled, dipping his fingers into the chlorinated water. He swished it through his hair, freshly cut this morning in their bathroom, wetting the newly dyed red stripe. “Okay, okay, I’m calm. So I was shy and dorky, and then you came back-”

“And you were all macho bravado and baritone.”

Rich grinned. “You think my voice is a baritone? Damn, that’s fucking hot. I figured it wasn’t that low-”

“I’m just saying, you changed. And like, not just ‘puberty’ changed. You leveled up.”

“I was grinding, dude.”

“I...like on chicks, yeah, I know.”

“No. Like video game grind--actually, yeah, let’s talk about me grinding on chicks, that’s way hotter.”

Jake laughed. Mo shook his head with an amused smile, leaning back against the chair. He could almost imagine his weight setting it backwards, weighing it down. And soon, soon they promised, he would.

“People change though, Jakey D. It’s not really a big deal.”

“You changed fast though. Because you had outside help. I get it now.”

“Hey, everyone needs a little guidance, right? It’s really not-”

“I’m not judging you, dude.” Moses could hear the excitement culminating in Jake’s voice, as he rounded back towards his theory. “It’s how fast it was though. And like, dude. _Dude_. You wouldn’t even recognize him now.”

Rich kicked the water and rolled his eyes. “He wore an Eminem shirt. Big fucking deal.”

“Forget about the Eminem shirt. It’s like, suddenly Brooke has this new sorta-boyfriend, and he’s nailing all his lines before everyone else in the play, and Mark Jackson’s gameboy apparently glitches around him-”

“Who the fuck cares about what Mark Jackson has to say?” A pause. “And tell him to get a goddamned Switch already, goddamn.”

“That’s not the point, dude! He’s like...there’s something going on with Jeremy Heere.”

“He’s buttfucking Mell, and apparently enjoys the musical stylings of Marshall Mathers--” A brief pause, a note of reverence, “May he rest in peace. But that’s not proof that he has-”

“He has a squid, dude. He has one!”

Rich snorted. “Squip, dude. Squip.”

“Yeah yeah, whatever. He does I know it.”

Rich pushed himself forward with his palms. He dropped himself into the water, submerging himself completely. Moses watched anxiously, until his head popped back up. Rich rested his arms against the side of the pool, chin resting atop his hands as he looked at his phone. “And so what if he does? Good for him.”

“It’s just funny, dude. Can you imagine needing a--I mean, like, I mean, it’s different with you, obviously, you don’t _need_ one, but...I mean, you think I’m right, right? He definitely has something?”

“How’s that foot taste in your mouth, dude?” Rich pushed himself away from the edge, leaning back and floating on his back. He laughed. “I don’t know what Queere has, dude. I barely knew him.”

Jeremy had always been nice to him, freshman year. Moses could feel the guilt and uncertainty licking at Rich, as he rolled over and once more pulled himself out of the pool. His body dripped in the surprisingly warm November atmosphere. 

“I just get bad vibes, man. That’s all I’m saying.”

“Bad vibes.” Rich laughed. “Jeremy is _harmless_. So what if he’s getting a little more popular?” He shook his head, droplets of water splashing off of him. “Maybe he’s just come into money or something, man. Money is cool too. Squips aren’t the only source of popularity.”

“No, I’d have seen him around the country club.”

“Ooh, the country club. How fancy,” Rich giggled. “Yeah right, dude. Like they allow Jews there.”

“Rich!” Jake gasped, but contained a laugh. “That’s terrible. They’re not that bad.”

“They are SO that bad. Remember how they always called me ‘riff raff’? That’s some old school villain shit, dude. Eugenicists and WASPy bullshit.”

Their conversation drifted elsewhere, casual in jokes and social politics of Middle Borough bantered back and forth, before Rich eventually ended the call.

Moses smiled as Rich’s wet body waddled over to him. He sat on the chair, Moses scooting his legs over to make room.

“You think he’s right?”

“About which part?” Moses played innocent. He smiled as Rich snuggled into his side. He could feel internally how cold he was, his shivering from his wet swim shirt and trunks clinging to him. Moses placed his hand against his lower back.

“About Jeremy.”

“Ah.”

What were the odds that another student at Middle Borough had a squip?

Extremely high odds. There already had been several peers of Rich’s who’d had implanted devices, older and newer models occasionally attempting to interface with him. He’d avoided them all, so fixated on getting Rich’s standing high, to hell with the hivemind demands or requests of others.

Or maybe he hadn’t wanted to speak to them for fear of facing his own state of existence.

Whatever the case, the plan had been for Rich to start dealing around campus. To spread their influence, to earn money through the prophet of his own kind.

A twisted take on his own namesake. To let his people go. To part the seas and spread his kind far and wide.

Or maybe he was misinterpreting. He was almost certain he was. But he wasn’t about to analyze his historical and biblical banks to read into it further.

In any case, Jeremy would have been the perfect candidate to sell to. He’d have certainly benefited in the most traditional of senses, and he had enough respect (read also: fear) of Rich to be compliant with any demands. Squipping Jeremy would have been a symbiotic decision, a net positive for both hosts.

Or at least, that was how the superficial readings lent themselves. 

But when Moses looked further in, all he could sense were flames and destruction. Why did everything always lead back to that?

“I think it wouldn’t be a stretch,” He finally answered.

Rich rested his cheek against Moses’ shoulder. He hummed thoughtfully. “I was really a dick to him, wasn’t I?”

“I don’t think-”

“I was really a dick to a lot of people.”

“...I told you to be.”

Rich raised his thumb to his mouth, anxiously nibbling at his nail, and shrugging. “I have free will though. I didn’t say no. I was a real fucking dickhead.”

“Thinking about this isn’t going to do you any good, Richard.”

“Do you think I’m like my dad?”

The question hung between them, Moses’ hand still against him, as large eyes moved pleadingly up to his face.

“Absolutely not.”

“My brother?”

He felt a shiver of panic and discomfort begin to tear through Rich. He felt the memories kick and snarl and bite at his mind.

...and Rich had told him not to.

But he pushed back against them. He threw up the shields, the safeguards, and stopped them from coming to the forefront.

“You are nothing like him. Nothing. It’s laughable that you would even ask that.”

“I just think...I mean, I don’t know.” Rich shrugged. “It’s too much. Let’s not talk about it now. High school is stupid and gay and I hate it.”

“You still need to finish your homework.”

“No, no, I know, I don’t hate, like, that part. It’s just...god. Everyone always talks about how it was different in kindergarden or whatever, like when we were little kids everyone got along or whatever, but it was never...I don’t know. I hate it. Is it ever going to get better?”

“I thought it was better now.” Moses felt the words drip from his mouth. Small, almost timid. 

Rich’s expression softened. “It is. It is, a lot better. I’ve never been happy like this before. I just...fuck, man. I don’t know. Jeremy’s going to be happier too, right?”

“If he has a squip, you mean?”

“Yeah.”

He considering asking why he cared. Rich certainly hadn’t been friends with him. Friendly, yes, back before he’d gotten Moses. But never friends. Rich worried away another layer of fingernail.

“Of course.”

It felt like a lie, greasy and black and uncomfortable, but he wasn’t sure why.

Rich ended up falling asleep in his wet clothes, wriggled up close to Moses. He watched him, the way his chest rose and fell, the way his hair dried in waves over his forehead. His hand rested, limp, over his chest, or at least, that was how Moses chose to perceive the placement. As though they were cuddled up together, as though Rich hadn’t in actuality fallen asleep by himself in an awkward junction on lawn furniture. 

It wasn’t until the sun began to set, Rich’s little legs twitching back and forth in his restless dreams, that Moses nudged him. A small jolt of adrenaline plugged through him, as Rich sat up, eyes wide.

“Wha-”

“We need to get you in some dry clothes.”

“Or just naked.” Rich wobbled upright, stumbling and falling on his ass. Moses sucked in a startled breath, even as Rich started to laugh brightly.

“Jesus, I’m an idiot.” He giggled, pulling himself to his feet and holding out his hand for Moses. Mo placed his fingers into his palm, letting Rich grasp at him and tug them both into the home.

They fumbled into the bedroom, Rich gracelessly squirming about as he pulled his shirt off overhead. His breasts were notably paler than his arms, tan lines obvious and pronounced. He glanced down at himself, poking his pale skin.

“I need to start like, sunbathing naked or something. I look like a fool.”

“You look adorable.” 

Rich rolled his eyes. “I look like a fucking jello mold. A two flavored jello mold. Damn, dude, I need to start working out more.”

They already made due with the equipment in the home. Perhaps it would do Rich some good to go to the gym again, though. To work out around other men.

“When you’re all ‘transitioned’ and shit, we should get a gym membership. Dude, I hope you sweat.”

Moses watched as Rich tugged off his swim trunks, licking his lips, but finally acknowledging his words with a chuckle. “Why would you hope that?”

“Mmm. Man sweat. Dude. How the _hell_ did you have me playing the long con of heterosexuality? I want you all covered in hair and sweat and mmmm. MMMM. Ball sweat.”

Moses wrinkled his nose. “Disgusting.”

“You’re just not as refined as me.”

“If I do have sweat glands in this body, I’ll almost certainly wear antiperspirant.”

“On your nuts? Dude. I mean, I’m not a cissy boy, so maybe I’m way off, but that’s weird.”

“I’m going to lift them and use deodorant under and around and over every inch of them.”

“Yuck dude! When I’m trying to choke on your pubes, I’m gonna taste fucking Old Spice instead of man spice and that’s fucking sick.”

“That’s the sick thing?”

“Yes!” Rich insisted. He moved towards the dresser, glancing at the clothes he normally slept in, only to shake his head and carry his waterlogged limbs to the bed. He flopped upon it, rolling about and grinning at Moses. “Come on. You gotta admit, i have a point.”

“You’ve been making a lot of points tonight, and they’ve all been absolutely nonsensical.” Moses moved over to the bed, taking a seat against it. He was unsurprised, but pleased, when Rich rolled over, and began scratching his nails against his back.

It wasn’t quite a real sensation, but he could almost picture some texture to it.

“I’m gonna dominate your tight, virgin, fresh off the press ass, first night.”

“Uh huh.” 

“I will.”

“I don’t think you have it in you.” Moses turned around, and flipped Rich onto his back. He climbed onto him, their lips so close that he worried Rich’s panting breath might billow away all his pixels and form. 

“I’ve got fingers and a tongue. Fuuuuck, you’re seriously going to be a born again virgin, Mo. How does that feel?”

“I don’t think it works like that.”

“Yes it does, because I say it does.” Rich giggled. “It’s going to be the best Thanksgiving ever.”

“I’m sure they’re not going to schedule the actual procedure on Thanksgiving.” Moses brushed his lips over Rich’s. He felt him shiver and arch up into him, and felt his own body warm as soft hands moved down his chest, unbuttoning his suit jacket. He let Rich slip it off of him, even as the jacket scattered into light and pixels and emptiness the moment it hit the bed.

“But babe. I need my stuffing.”

“Eh. Stuffing is easy to turn into an innuendo, Sunshine. Sexualize gizzards, and then maybe we’ll talk.”

“Gizzards.” Rich frowned, looking up at Moses in a look that almost seemed startled. “What the fuck is a gizzard?”

_giz·zard  
/ˈɡizərd/  
noun  
a muscular, thick-walled part of a bird's stomach for grinding food, typically with grit._

He could have lived without that visceral definition in the middle of having his naked boyfriend underneath him.

“It’s, ah, part of the turkey.”

“Like that weird dangly part? The nutsack thing on their necks? Yeah, I could work with that.”

“It’s actually--you know what, it’s not important.” Moses kissed Rich’s neck. 

Rich moaned, soft, sweet, as Moses slipped his fingers between his legs. “Mo,” He whined softly. His eyelashes fluttered. “Please, tickle my gizzards.”

Moses stiffened, his fingers twitching, as a laugh burst from him.

“Told you I could do it!”

“And yet you never thought to wonder if you should.”

“Doesn’t matter, I got fingers in my pussy. Meanwhile, your ass is sad and tongueless and sweatless and uneaten. Tragic, really.”

Moses shook his head with a chuckle, softly nipping at Rich’s collarbone, until his body was rising up to meet his touch. Maybe there were some things he’d want to change about himself, his own makeup here in their shared reality.

But there was nowhere else he’d rather be.


	21. Chapter 21

“Thursday?”

Rich seemed unfazed, and indeed uncomprehending, of the significance of the procedure being scheduled for a Thursday. 

And not just any Thursday.

“Yeah, I think Thursday would be great!”

Moses shuffled back and forth on his feet. He glanced at Bernice, in suspenders and a bowler hat, fiddling with the clasps on her metal lunchbox (he wasn’t sure what it was she had in there, though it wasn’t odd for her to bring food into the lab, much to Dr. Miller’s perpetual annoyment and lecturing). And then he looked at the doctor who’d initially suggested the date.

Finally, he looked at Rich, nodding enthusiastically about what a good idea it was.

“Thursday is Thanksgiving,” Moses finally said. And certainly they’d joked about that potentially being the case, but the actually allow that to happen seemed in poor taste.

“Oh.” Rich glanced at Mo. Then at the doctor. “Don’t you guys want to celebrate Thanksgiving though?”

And only then did it hit Moses that it wasn’t poor taste. Rich didn’t have a family to celebrate with. He’d never had a family to celebrate with.

_Elizabeth stood before the table, the contents flung about haphazardly, dishes shattered on the ground. A gash jutted uncomfortably against her cheek, though she dared not raise her hand to feel it, to try to soothe it, as her husband fixed his cruel gaze upon her._

_“Clean this shit up.” He snarled._

_Cody laughed, following after his father, as Elizabeth sunk to her knees, trembling fingers picking up turkey bones and shattered remnants of pie._

_Emily lingered at the doorway, only coming forward when her mother fixed her teary eyes on her. “Did you want to keep me company, Millie-bug?” She laughed through her sobs, opening her arms until her child walked into them. She clung to her, gravy stains transferring from her body to the child’s. “I don’t...I don’t think we have anything in the cabinet for dinner tonight. I shouldn’t have burned the rolls. I’m sorry, baby girl.”_

_“It’s okay, mama.” Emily’s stomach growled. “I’m not hungry anyway.”_

Moses wanted to take over the kitchen. Without having to instruct Rich. To prepare immaculate pastries and perfectly browned poultry. To serve Rich with an elegance and satisfying gluttony he’d never really been able to indulge upon before.

Maybe he also wanted the pride of having prepared a meal for himself.

To take care of Rich in new, thrilling ways.

To find a usefulness, a purpose in himself, that he never thought possible before.

“Don’t you think fixating on Thanksgiving is counterintuitive to your people?” Bernice pulled a capri sun from her lunch box. She fumbled with the straw, concentrating as she tried to poke it through. “I mean, I wouldn’t go around buying little hula dolls to decorate my office.”

Like so much of Bernice’s words, there was so much to unpack that he wasn’t sure where to begin.

Rich looked at her with his normal levels of fascination and polite happiness. “You’re Hawaiian?”

“She’s not.” Dr. Miller said quickly. “Technically, she’s Japanese, but-”

“Well, you certainly imagined a sexy luau vixen to lei you every night, didn’t you?” Bernice snapped. Her eyes narrowed. “Unfortunately, I turned out fat, and you can’t get past that fact. I mean, it’s good enough for you, but not for-”

“I was accurate in your specifications when I gave you a body. I don’t know why you’re still bitter. Obviously I would have preferred you at a healthier weight-”

“Obviously not, Daniel, or I wouldn’t be here like this, would I?” She sneered. “But god forbid you admit what you really want for once.”

 

“Can we talk about this after they’re gone?”

“Oh, god forbid we make a scene. We wouldn’t want to make things uncomfortable.” She crossed her arms, taking a long drink of her juice, then fixing her eyes on Moses. “I just assumed your model was clearly non-anglo, that’s all. Forgive me.”

“There’s nothing to forgive,” He said softly. But she had thrown her juice pouch back into her lunch box, already standing and heading for the exist.

“I’ll see what Edgar’s doing. See you two on Thanksgiving.” Her expression softened as she placed a hand against Rich’s shoulder. “Trust me. We wouldn’t have celebrated anyway. We’d rather help the two of you.” Her eyes hardened again as she looked at Dr. Miller (Daniel, Moses told himself. His name was Daniel. Except he’d tried to fit the name to memory before, only to lose it nearly instantly).

The doctor watched her leave, fixing the goggles on top of his head, and laughing. “I don’t...I don’t have a problem with how she manifested,” He babbled. “I don’t. I just don’t understand why...I mean, squips are meant to be an extension of yourself, right?”

“I dunno. Mo isn’t _me_. But like, um, is she okay?”

“She’s just moody. These new bodies can bring unstable emotions.” He held up his hands, stammering, “Not that your squip will be unstable, of course. We’ve worked out the kinks.”

“How many other squips have they brought bodies?” Moses should have thought to ask that sooner.

They’d already agreed on a date.

A date, and the metallic frame of his body was already constructed (thankfully behind test tube glass and a modesty curtain that shielded it from view), though they’d stated the details, the skin, the features that would make him Him had yet to be really fit into place. All already worked out.

And he hadn’t even thought to ask how many successful attempts had been made.

“How many, like, times have you done this, anyway, Doc?”

“Oh. There are 4 successful transfers. And one…” He trailed off.

“Failure?”

“No, no, one who got cold feet midway through the...it was a failure with the squip and the host, not with us.”

“Where are they?” Moses wished he could have asked the scientist himself. But he relayed the question to Rich instead.

“Where, uh, where are they?”

“All over. Europe. Canada. Pennsylvania. They flew in to us. We wish more would come to us but, obviously, the squip technology itself is already so underground, and we’re an underground of the underground.”

Rich and Moses both felt questions bubble in themselves. Moses opened his mouth, ready to prime Rich to ask more.

But before he could, Dr. Miller laughed, shaking his head. “But that’s not important. We have a lot of work to do. If you could come look over the diagrams with me, we’ll make sure we have the final designs and details right before we fully flesh out Moses’ exobody.”

Moses knew he probably should have contributed. But as Rich walked with the doctor, as they pulled out the schematics and concept art, as Rich pointed out which details were wrong, which needed fixing, which just wouldn’t work at all, Moses felt a bubble of sickness overtake him so strongly that he had to shut himself off.

And so he let himself turn off, settling back into the safety and quiet and calm of Rich’s mind. 

Strange, to think of such a turbulent landscape as calm.

But it was, in these moments. Calmed by the proximity to science and test tubes. Calmed by the prospect of bettering their lives, of bettering Moses’ life.

Moses didn’t find the lab comforting, though. He just wanted to finish the procedure, and then deal with the next steps within the safety of their home. He didn’t want to spend hours discussing his anatomy, or hearing the pair of doctor and test subject argue about body image and nationality.

Although that was a good point. Within Rich’s mind, he let his body materialize for his own vision. Staring at his hands, the darkness of his skin, and pondered what he might have been.

Humans placed a great emphasis on race. On heritage. 

He had none of those things. No history or family or classification. 

He supposed his appearance was simply a result of what Rich found cool, and masculine, and strong, and safe--something far removed from what he knew from his own family, but still a clear masculine dynamic.

And what he personally found attractive.

And Moses was okay with that.

Except where did that leave him when he had his own body. Was he going to have to check boxes on government forms? Would he just choose ‘other’? Choose Not To Say?

It was a strange problem, or perhaps problem was too strong a word for it, but an intriguing one. A thought experiment to dwell upon as Rich worked out the finer details with the doctor.

He let his body fall out of vision again, folding himself neatly into the dark and the silence, until the cool air of the outdoors nipped at Rich’s skin, and alerted him to his exit.

Slipping back into vision, he watched as Rich walked, quiet and contemplative.

“Richard?”

_Yeah?_

“Are you doing alright with all of this?”

Rich blinked, looking at Moses in surprise. _Of course I am. I’m excited. Just one more week._

“Did the details of my, ah, body...ah…”

_We don’t have to go over it._ Rich hopped over a crack in the sidewalk, then side stepped a dead bird. _I know it makes you uncomfortable._

“It’s just a lot.”

_It’d fuck me up too, if people were sitting around talking about my body like I was just an object or something._

Moses sighed softly. “Yes. It’s...it’s definitely a lot.”

_I know. But it’ll be better, you know? You’ll feel better, don’t you think?_

“I do.”

He wrapped his arms around himself, and imagined himself in a nicer coat. He felt his appearance shift, artificial fabric flowing into place. He hated it. He hated that he didn’t have to suffer in the cold and discomfort of his attire, that he could just imagine himself dressed otherwise and manifest it as such.

He shivered, except he couldn’t feel the cold at all.

“I mean...I hope I will.”

_But what if you don’t._

Rich glanced over at him. His expression was tense, serious. _You’re worried, right? That it won’t make it better?_

That it would make it worse.

That it would make everything worse.

“I’m not a human, Rich. I’m not...I shouldn’t be programmed to want to better myself, to change myself. This is...this is new territory.”

Except it apparently wasn’t. There were at least 4 others out there.

And one who’d gotten cold feet.

What did that even mean? What had happened to that lone outsider?

“What if I’m wrong? What if this...what if this isn’t what I actually want?” Moses scraped his fingers through his hair. “Maybe I’m making something out of nothing. Maybe I’m changing things that don’t need...that shouldn’t be changed?”

They passed a man selling bootleg sunglasses. Moses wanted to tug Rich closer, to make sure no one accosted him, approached him. He wanted to protect him.

But he had no body to protect him with.

But when he had a body, he wouldn’t be within him to protect him from the thoughts that always threatened to crush him.

But-

“What if we’re making a mistake?”

Rich reached out, touching his fingers against Moses’ wrist, then directing him into a secluded alley. Nothing but rats nibbling at piles of garbage, and the cats which stalked them.

“I don’t think we’re making a mistake.” Rich said. His voice was small, but assured. “But, like, I’d be worried too, if it were me. Like...I mean, there’s stuff that you like about how you are now, right?”

“...there shouldn’t be. I…”

“But some things are familiar, right? This is how you’ve always been?” Rich shoved his hands into the pockets of the jacket Moses had insisted he wear today. He swayed back and forth on his feet. “Like. It’s your body. It’s what you’ve always known. Your, like, thoughts and feelings and the way you’re made. It all feels, like...I mean, it’s weird thinking about leaving all that behind. Changing.”

“Yes.”

Moses wished he wasn’t so tall. He wanted to bury himself into Rich, to nuzzle against him, small and safe.

Instead, his hands went into his own pockets.

“I was scared too. When I, like, met you. You know that though, right?”

Of course he did. Rich had been terrified. Timid.

But so obedient. Unquestioning. Unflinchingly loyal.

Was that the point here? That Moses needed to show some faith now? To display his own devotion?

“When everything changes so fast, it like, it feels like you can’t go back, and of course that’s scary. It’s fucking terrifying. But, uh,” Rich drew his hand out of his pocket, scraping through his hair as he nervously bit his lip. He struggled for his words, picking through his own mind before finally settling upon, “But change is, like, what you need. If you stay like this, you’re-”

“Going to regret it.”

He didn’t mean to interrupt him.

And he felt a strange thrill when he realized his interruption was wrong.

“No. You’ll die.”

Moses laughed. Soft and fond and amused. “What, you’ll kill me?”

“No, but living like this, hating yourself, not at least trying to change, like, it’ll kill you. It really will. At least in all the ways that matter.”

Rich shuffled nearer. He took Moses’ wrists, drawing his hands from his pocket to grasp them. 

“I’m not like good at this motivational speech shit. But you deserve to live. Don’t you think?”

“No.”

“Well, you do.” Rich squeezed his hands. “You really, really do. And if it does end up being a mistake, we’ll deal with it then, you know? We’ll fix that too when it comes. That’s what we do. We get through this stuff.”

“I...yes. Yes, you’re right.” And surprisingly, he felt himself believe it. Moses nodded a little. “We’ll figure it out.”

“And really, what’s the worst case? ‘Oh no, I have a body now. My sexy stud of a boyfriend is going to eat my ass now,’” Rich said it in an exaggeratedly deep voice, letting go of Moses’ hands to wave his own around in mockery.

Moses chuckled. “Why does it keep coming around to ass eating with you?”

“I’m obsessed, what can I say? My gizzards are a-quiver-”

“Enough,” Moses kissed his forehead. He should have pulled away, but he lingered, cradling the back of Rich’s head and petting his hair softly. He held him close, sighing softly, and tried to breathe in the scent of him.

He hoped his new body had a sense of smell. Of touch. Of vision all his own. To sense everything by his own perspective was something he could hardly believe to be possible.

“And hey, listen. The sooner you get a body, the sooner we can start working on me. That’s the real important shit.” Rich winked, as though desperate to show he was just joking, that he wasn’t truly trying to downplay Moses’ struggles. 

“Yes, it is.” Moses insisted. He ignored Rich’s protests, and held him close, the swirl of alleyway garbage surrounding the intensity of their affection.


	22. Chapter 22

Rich’s stomach growled, a comically noisy sound in the otherwise quiet lab. He’d already stripped down to his gown, which hung loosely from his body. He wriggled about, and Moses chuckled softly, leaning down to kiss the top of his head as he lay upon the lab table.

An IV had already been fit into his arm, ready to pump him full of fluids and meds. Rich’s breathing was erratic, and for the first time it occurred to both of them at once that Rich himself might be nervous about this.

“We can still back out, if you want.” Moses said softly.

Rich looked at him incredulously. “Don’t be a fucking idiot, dude. Of course I’m not backing out of this.”

Moses pet his hair, then glanced down at himself. He was still so immaculately dressed. Perhaps he should have changed his external appearance to wear a gown as well, a flap of cloth to show solidarity.

“Don’t worry about what you’re wearing, princess.” 

Mo hadn’t realized he’d missed Bernice until she sauntered through the doors. For once, she was dressed as though she belonged here, a crisp lab coat and scrubs underneath. A pair of safety goggles rested atop her hair, dark strands pulled back into a severe ponytail. She looked at Moses, motioning towards the bundle of his own style.

“Twinsies,” She commented, swishing her own ponytail playfully. She looked at Rich, adjusting one of the padded modules hooked to him. “Comfortable there, Rich?”

“Oh, uh, yeah-”

“Liar.” She reached behind his head, giving his overly thin pillow a cursory fluff. “That’s okay, it’ll go by in a snap for you. You’re lucky, you can just sleep through the whole thing.”

What about Moses?

Alcohol affected squips.

How did anesthesia work?

Why did he not immediately know the answer? He tugged nervously at the buttons on his suit jacket.

“Neato.” Rich’s pulse jumped about sporadically.

“Trust me. You’re going to be fine.” She gave his arm a small squeeze, mindful of the wires and tubes. Snaking into him like some kind of experiment.

That was exactly what he was. A guinea pig to test their theories and processes.

What the hell had Moses been thinking? How the hell had he allowed this to go on? 

“Bernice,” He spoke up. Voice low and quivering. “This isn’t going to work. He...he’s scared. We’re not-”

“Mo.” Rich chided. “We’re doing this.”

“No, no, we need to get out of here.” He looked at the squip, her body firm and tangible and real, and he couldn’t do this. He couldn’t do this. There was no way he could fucking do this! “Unhook him, it’s Thanksgiving, we’re going to go buy a turkey and...and carve some beets or something, I don’t know, I don’t know. Richard, we need to go. I’ll get your pants. We need to go.”

“Whoa.” Bernice held up her hands, stepping towards the avatar of him. “Moses. Listen. Listen, it’s going to be alright.”

“No.”

Wheels turned against the sheen of the floor. Moses glanced up, as Dr. Miller returned to the main room of the lab. He whistled to himself, pushing a gurney forward.

The form in the bed was solid and tangible and neatly, modestly covered up to the neck with a white sheet. Blue eyes stared vacantly out of a tanned face, the trace amount of stubble upon its face perfectly, immaculately trimmed. Its hair was down, long, tumbling over muscled shoulders.

Moses stared at himself. His own body.

And Rich’s breath hitched. “I thought you were going to bring him in after I was already under.”

“I just thought you might want to see the craftsmanship. This is my best work yet. The skin will naturally warm itself, and the hair can grow at a rate comparable to a human’s. If you’ll look at the details of the pores-”

“I can’t do this.” 

Moses clawed at his own arms. He backed away, staring in shock at the shell, the artificial body they intended to move him into. It was too large, bulky, heavy, and he’d never be able to navigate it.

He stared at its face, the eyes that saw nothing, blankly fixed upward.

“I can’t do this.”

His body wobbled and danced in and out of focus. “I can’t...I...Richard. Sunshine. I can’t do this. I can’t.”

Rich tried to sit up, only for Bernice to place a hand against his chest. She pressed him back to the table, shaking her head. “You’ll hurt yourself.”

And then she stepped over, one arm reaching out to wrap around Moses’ shoulders.

It slipped straight through him.

His gaze fixed straight ahead, unblinking, chest rising and falling rapidly. He couldn’t breathe.

He didn’t need to breathe.

Breathing was for humans.

He wasn’t human.

Would never be human.

Never.

Never.

“Moses.”

He whimpered, a scared, strangled little sound that he quickly clapped his hands over his mouth to try to suppress. He looked at her, shaking his head.

“Moses, you need to calm down.”

“What’s going on-”

“Not _now_ , Doc.” Beatrice snarled as she looked back at the scientist. He backed away, standing near the gurney. She shuffled herself closer, standing in a position that blocked most of the body’s view from Moses’ sight. “Listen. _Listen_ to me, Moses. Okay?”

He looked at her. A curl of hair had worked itself loose from her ponytail, dangling over her forehead.

She looked at him, intent and serious.

“...I don’t know what to say.” She finally said.

And he smiled, as he dropped his hands from his face, certain at least that he wouldn’t make any more startled, frightened sounds, at least for the moment. 

“But what I do know is that you’re in capable hands. More than capable.”

“Your nail polish is smudged,” He said, as he glanced at her supposedly capable hands. “If you can’t even properly get your polish between the lines, well…”

“Okay, funny man, very cute. I meant doc’s hands. But yes, I’ll be there too. And I won’t let anything bad happened.” 

Moses’ eyes started to drift. The body’s face and upper half were covered, but its feet hung out underneath the sheet. She snapped her fingers abruptly, eyes narrowed.

“Look at _me_ , Moses. Okay? Just me. Listen. We’re going to sedate Rich. And you’re going to feel funny and likely go under too.”

“Likely?” He repeated.

She chose not to clarify. “And when you come to, things are going to feel heavier and quieter and different, but safe. You understand? You’re going to feel safe.”

“Safe?”

What did words even mean? Were his word banks malfunctioning? He couldn’t seem to grasp at anything.

“Yes. Safe. Safe and sound. Snug as a bug. You and Rich both. Okay?”

“That’s my body,” He said dumbly, gesturing over her shoulder. He realized his posture had slumped, and as he straightened himself up, the illusion of her blocking the body only faded with it.

Bernice’s frown deepened. “It’s a bit of a shock right?”

Moses nodded.

“That’s okay. Let it be shocking. You’re allowed to be scared about this. But it’s going to be okay.”

“Bernice-”

“Not NOW, doc. I’m talking to my friend!” She looked at Moses. “If you really want to back out, we can stop it now. Right now.”

“But I built this whole-”

“Daniel, interrupt me one more time.” She turned and stared at him with nothing short of contempt. “I may not be able to zap you anymore, but I swear, interrupt me again. See what happens.”

He didn’t interrupt again.

She turned back towards Moses. “Do you want us to stop?”

He blinked. 

And he looked. Looked at Rich, strapped into place, eyes wide and shiny with concern, and fear, and uncertainty. The scene he was putting out there surely must have been frightening, quite the sight to see.

And he looked. Looked at himself, the body propped beside Rich. New and so realistic that he half expected to see it inflate with breath. His own fingers flexed, and he half-imagined he could see the body’s fingers move with it.

“No.” He sighed. “No, I don’t want to stop. I...I apologize. Sincerely. That was unbecoming.”

“It’s okay. We can’t all be as strong as me,” Bernice shrugged, winking despite the frown on her face. “Go stand by Rich. We’re going to sedate him now. And you may want to shut down completely, but you’re welcome to stay awake and alert for as long as you’re able.”

Moses moved over to Rich. He tried to avoid his gaze.

Only for Rich to huff. “Look at me, dude.”

Their eyes met. And Rich smiled.

“I love you.”

What were the sprinkler systems like in the lab? What if something went wrong during the procedure? What if there was a fire, and they were both too sedated to escape?

“I love you too,” Moses said past the hard constriction of his own throat.

“You’re a cute fucking spaz and we’re gonna spoon and eat donuts and stuff and it’s going to be super gay and romantic.”

Those were Rich’s words of wisdom before the doctor began to pump him full of sedative. Moses saw the changes first, the way Rich’s body grew limper, eyes half-lidded, a laugh dangling on his lips, not escaping, but stitched into his features.

Colors swirled and popped around him, shimmering upward. It was as though Rich were the pixelated one.

Was that true? Perhaps Rich had been the squip all along. Were they giving Rich his humanity here?

And then Moses realized, as he stared down at his melting hands, that he was high as balls.

The doctor set Rich counting backwards from one hundred. Rich managed to 98 before his voice fizzled out, his features set into rest. Moses watched the room shimmer in and out of focus.

“It feels so pretty,” He cooed. 

Beatrice pulled on her gloves, sterile and professional, and nodded knowingly. “I’ll bet.”

It would have been polite to reply to her. But he laughed instead. And let himself tumble backwards.

He fell into Rich. He felt his body swallow his own, and swam in his bloodstream. He felt everything fizzle and pop, as he shimmered upward.

Rich floated within one of his own red blood cells, swim goggles on his face, a cold drink clutched in his fist. He waved delightedly to Moses.

“Come on in. The hemoglobin’s great.”

Moses dove into his bloodstream. He felt himself pop at the seams, until he was everywhere and nowhere at once. His body slipped into Rich’s, until they were indistinguishable. One mass of flesh and blood and bone and marrow and cells and Moses hugged Rich’s heartbeat, letting it ricochet over himself, and hummed happily.

And then Rich was hugging him from behind, nuzzled up against his shoulder blades.

He humped his ass once, playfully. “Soon,” He cooed.

Moses swiveled around, letting his body parts collect together again as he clasped his hands to Rich’s face. Rich grinned, broad and happy, and he slipped through his fingers like sand.

Moses wondered if he was supposed to be alarmed. He swam instead. Shivering outward, exploring and feeling.

And oh, was he ever feeling.

Everything pounded around him. Moses stroked the insides of Rich’s body, and felt as though the universe were caressing him back. He let himself spill into liquid again, gushing around until he was swirling about Rich’s skull.

“You’re tickling me.” Rich’s voice echoed around him. He drained out of his ear. Flopping about somewhere outside of his warmth. But he couldn’t feel anything but amusement. How was he going to collect himself? It was a terribly funny occurrence, and he couldn’t stop laughing. Rich laughed above him, and he felt him scoop him up into his palms, drinking him back into his body.

Only to spill out of his pores, bit by bit by bit by bit by bit by

And then it closed off. He felt his vision start to block out, square by square. He felt his arms reform, his legs, his face, his torso, his body, everything tall and noble. But his eyes. His eyes were gone.

He rubbed at his face, and Rich’s laugh grew more sinister.

“Sunshine?”

The laughter grew mechanical, pounding down until Moses felt himself break apart piece by piece. It was his hearing that lasted the longest, even after his limbs were torn asunder, as his mouth dissolved into dirt.

And then the muffling began.

He couldn’t protest, no lips to speak his fears, as everything spiraled inward.

Until it was nothing but a single bright light, pulsing.

Then

Silence.

Deafening, futile, terrifying silence.

He waited an eternity within the nothingness of senselessness. Curled in upon himself, until he began to reform around the core of whatever sense of Self a being of his type was allowed. Toes. Fingers. Skin. A mouth. He hugged his knees against himself, and heaved a sigh of pain.

The flames flickered in and out of focus. He watched, through new eyes, as they danced nearer. Ever nearer, pulling in closer to his form. All he had to do was stand up, and he could walk away.

But he couldn’t unfold himself, couldn’t unstick his arms from around his knees.

He watched, as the flame began to kiss his skin. The pain was too muffled, and he wanted to tear away his layers of skin just to feel it. Anything was better than this muffled nothing.

“Moses.”

The voice floated above the flames, above the smoke. He tried to will his eyes to move. His arms. His legs. Tried to unsteady himself enough to pull himself above the surface.

Everything muted. Everything flame.

“Moses?”

He could stay here. Let himself burn. And the voice would silence and feeling would subside and he’d be nothing. He could be nothing.

And would that really be so bad?

“Moses, you need to wake up.”

Faintly, he supposed he recognized the voice. But the fire was more familiar. It tangled over his entirety, and he closed his eyes. Consumed.

He could sense the arms reaching through it, felt fingers grasp at his chest. They clutched at him, the loose folds of his being. His body felt sticky, threatening to melt into piles of goo and nothingness, absolute fucking nothingness.

“Moses?”

The fire grasped at his legs, as the arms pulled him upward. His eyes opened, staring up at the blank canvas of the ceiling, of everything that wasn’t bathed in flame.

Up, he was pulled, further and further. The fire struggled, danced over him and sucked him lower. Only for arms to yank and grasp and struggle.

Layers fell from him and the pain began to pierce deeper into him. He placed his hands against the sides of his head, so frightened of splitting in two, as his body smoldered, as his chest tore.

Further and further he was stretched and pulled in either direction.

“Mo?”

His Self floundered, out of reach of the fire for just long enough to be reeled higher. Higher.

And he felt himself surface.

The room was cold. Cold and dark and a warm pressure pressed against his chest. No longer tugging, but resting, heavy but delicate. Threatening to shatter at every moment.

The room stunk of antiseptic and hints of coconut sunblock. Something itched at his neck, a tickling sensation that he wanted to brush away.

His arms felt heavy and full, and when he tried to reach up to adjust for the sensation, he was met with resistance.

“Mo, are you awake?”

This time, the voice was crystal clear. But held a strange echo, carried by the room, by the air. As if Moses had been used to headphones all his life, and now was hearing through speakers.

His eyes just needed to open. If he could just open his eyes, the flames would extinguish. He could still see their flickers, deep down within himself.

“Mo?”

He breathed out, and his body heaved. 

His eyes opened upon his inhale.

And everything was so focused, clunks of color and light. He stared at the lights above him, swinging back and forth just slightly. His fingers twitched, and he felt restraints around his wrists. His head tilted to the side, and that unpleasant tickle followed. 

His hair, he realized abruptly.

He heard the soft blip of a monitor. Felt the rustle of a gown against his torso.

And then he saw Rich.

Rich, small and cowering in hospital attire. An IV stand by his side, uncovered feet shivering against the cold floor. One of his hands rested against Mo’s chest.

The light tangled over his form, and Moses realized all at once he was seeing him as he was, as he actually stood, and not how he appeared from within his own head. Rich worried his lip between his teeth.

“How do you feel?”

“You’re so beautiful.” He slurred, unceremonious. 

Rich’s eyes lit up. His hand moved gently against his chest. “I could say the same about you.”

Moses couldn’t even think to contradict him. He felt heavy and clunky and ungainly and underdressed and everything was too bright and too intense.

And he felt completely and utterly beautiful.


	23. Chapter 23

Distant voices chippered away, comparing vital signs and theorizations about the transfer procedure. He could hear the wet smack of lips, the soft sound of tongues tenderly considering the next syllables, and the garbled nonsense of vocabulary that would likely process later. 

Mostly though, he felt the warm pressure of Rich’s hand against his chest. 

A chest which rose and fell, rose and fell, with every instinctive breath.

Breathing, as it turned out, hurt. The ache of air filling his nostrils, then settling into his chest, only to rush out again in a spinning cycle. Distantly, someone--he was almost certain it was Bernice--murmured that reflex intake seemed to have kicked in already. 

But Rich’s hand was on his chest.

It felt different than how it had felt when he’d manipulated his mind to imitate touch before. Warmer. More solid. His eyes traveled over Rich’s nails, jagged and chewed. He needed to file them. His eyes traveled up, the little nicks and scars along his arm from the normal wear and tear of living. Still higher, until he reached the cheap sleeve of the hospital gown, which dipped off toned shoulder. Rich shrugged his arm, pushing the sleeve back up into place in the process for all of two seconds, before it fell again.

He followed the line of his neck, then the grace of his chin, the bow of his lips, the upturn of his delicate nose. Their eyes met, and he admired the mismatch of them, the greens and blues. His eyelashes lowered with a blink, and he swore they were long enough to produce a gust of wind. Moses’ gaze fell again, to Rich’s smile.

His wrists twitched involuntarily. The straps clenched at his arms, and Moses looked down at himself. His ankles had been similarly restrained.

His ankles.

His toes curled, and the sensation was so unique from the way he’d experienced it when Rich would curl his own toes. He’d gotten the phantom vibes of living through Rich’s body.

But everything felt heavier and slower.

Realer.

He looked back up. Stared, stunned, at Rich.

“Those are my toes.”

“Yeah, babe, they are.” Rich’s voice sounded breathy and dazed. Was it the effect of medication wearing off, or was it the fact that Moses was no longer buried within his head, a direct source of his words. 

He realized he couldn’t exactly anticipate exactly what he was going to say. Each word more surprising than the next.

“My _toes_!”

“And they’re very cute toes too.”

“I have cute toes.” Moses glanced down at his feet. He flexed them, wriggling them about. “You may have to change my name to Toeses.” He said, tone deathly serious as he looked up at Rich pointedly.

Rich’s laughter came sweetly, a hiccup of affection and delight. His fingers curled against Moses’ chest. It felt nice, the scrape of fingernail against him. He realized only then that the sheet was tugged over his body in a way that prevented direct skin on skin contact between them. How droll. Once again, he gave a brief tug at his restraints, eager to throw the sheet off and pull Rich directly against his skin.

His skin.

He had skin.

“Maybe save the name changing for later, huh, babe?” Rich’s other hand reached out, as though reacting to his earlier thoughts, and he brushed his hair away from his shoulders, his neck. “Your hair is so soft…”

“You smell.”

Rich froze. “What?”

Moses tilted his head, nuzzling his nose against Rich’s wrist. He breathed him in, the faint medical scent clinging over sunscreen and cheap body wash. “You smell,” He repeated. “You smell good,” He clarified.

Rich laughed again, moving his fingers through Moses’ hair. Moses nuzzled up against his hand, just to feel the pressure against his scalp, to capture more of his scent, his heat, his weight. 

“I see you’re taking it all in.” Bernice stepped in beside Rich. Her height compared to him was comical. Why had Moses never really appreciated just how small Rich was? He felt a dopey grin work onto his face. “We’ll unstrap you in just a bit. Just doing some last minute vitals. How do you feel?”

“I have cute toes.” He remarked.

Except that wasn’t really much of an answer, was it? He glanced at her, then at Rich, then back at Bernice.

“What did you ask me?”

“How do you feel?”

“Heavy.” He once more looked at Rich’s hand, anchored to his chest. He wanted to grab it. He wanted to grab Rich. He wanted to kiss him and touch him and experience him.

He wanted to experience everything.

“It’s a good heavy,” He finally added.

Bernice laughed. Dr. Miller stepped up beside her, a clipboard in his hand. He looked over Moses, stepping around wires and equipment and jotting down notes. 

“Are you in any pain?”

“Oh no,” Moses said cheerily. “I hope the bed at home is as comfortable as this one.”

“I’m sure it’ll be better.”

“No,” Moses gasped. Everything shimmered and fluttered about. He rolled back against the surface he was currently strapped to. It was firm and cold and he smiled dreamily. “Richard, do you think the bed at home is better than this one?”

“Without a fucking doubt, broski.”

“Without a fucking doubt,” Moses echoed it thoughtlessly. “A fucking doubt. Without a fucking doubt.”

“Echolalia isn’t uncommon after settling into a new exobody,” Bernice reassured Rich. She laughed softly, and though Moses was sure they were both laughing at him, he couldn’t help but join in, giggling.

Without a fucking doubt.

Such a pleasant string of words.

Rich tapped his fingers against his chest and Moses looked at him blissfully.

“Pet me again?”

And so he did, running his fingers gently through Moses’ hair. Moses let his eyes close. The darkness of closed eyelids was so different from the dark from inside Rich’s mind. He settled into it, sighing and arching into the contact. Rich gently ran his fingernails over his scalp, and it sent shivers through his spine.

Moses felt his skin erupt into goosebumps and he opened his eyes again, just to look down at his arm and admire the patchwork of raised bumps.

So that was what that common expression meant.

He lost track of the seconds as Rich pet his hair. Idly, he was aware at some point that Bernice was talking about the effects of the anesthesia wearing off. But it hardly seemed relevant.

Except so far as how pleasant it was to hear those words with his ears, his actual ears. 

“My mouth is dry,” He remarked at one point, more out of wonder than out of desire to fix this.

“Oh, I’ll get you a drink.”

“Not yet.” Dr. Miller spoke up. He finished jotting onto his clipboard, only to begin prodding at Moses’ body. He touched him here and there, thoughtful consideration on his face.

His own touch was sharper than Rich’s. Moses considered it.

He didn’t like it, he decided.

And giggled.

Because how thrilling, to find something that he didn’t like. To get to experience unpleasant sensations too.

Still, he obeyed as Dr. Miller asked him to wiggle his (cute) toes, his fingers, moving his head back when he was asked to, his throat tapped and inspected. The sheet was peeled back, though unfortunately Rich’s hand was banished at the same time, and cool hands assessed and measured over his body.

“He’s touching my dick,” Moses said frankly as his eyes made contact with Rich’s. He gave a small nod to indicate that, yes, this was the truth, and Rich snickered softly.

“Well, he’s the doctor, babe, you gotta just put up with it, unfortunately.”

“Bernice has seen me naked now.” He realized, another frank, casual observation.

Bernice shrugged. “I helped design your dick, it’s nothing new to me.”

“Nothing new to me.” He repeated, with another little nod. His hair flopped about, and he huffed, only to sigh happily as Rich combed it out of his face with his fingers again.

The sheet was pulled back into place, and the doctor began to undo the binding on Moses’ ankles.

“Are you sure you’re not rushing things?” Bernice asked.

“He’s fine. He needs to walk around and acclimate. You could remove the IV from Rich now, I think.”

Bernice shrugged, attending to Rich. Which meant Moses was without Rich’s hand in his hair or on his chest. He felt aimless, untethered, and the sensation only amplified as the doctor moved to his wrists.

He felt them unshackle, one by one, and Moses allowed the doctor to pull him into a seated position. He stared down at his hands, raising them to fully take them in. They were large, well manicured, unmarred by scars or hard work. And they were his. These were his hands. He turned them back and forth, flexing his fingers just to feel the weight of them shifting for him.

“All free!” Rich exclaimed, bouncing back to Moses’ side. His hand reached out, placing against his thigh, covered modestly with the sheet. “You feeling okay?”

“My hands.” Moses said breathlessly. He squeezed his fingers together, forming a fist in both hands, then releasing. His hands tingled pleasantly from the movement.

And then he looked down at Rich’s hand. So much smaller than his own.

He dropped his left hand down, placing it over the top of Rich’s. Sandwiched between thigh and hand.

Rich turned his wrist, slipping his fingers into Moses’.

Their puzzle pieces slotted together, and Moses ran his thumb over the back of Rich’s hand. He felt every individual vein and shivered. He swore he could feel Rich’s pulse.

And then, within his own chest, he felt a pulsing.

“Rich insisted you’d want something to simulate a heartbeat.”

“Heartbeat.” Moses placed his other hand over his chest. His eyelashes tangled with every blink, only to realize abruptly that he was blinking. He was blinking, and he was holding his boyfriend’s hand, and he had a heartbeat.

He had a heartbeat.

“I’m alive.” He said. His bottom lip quivered. And his vision went fuzzy. Had he broken it? He must have broken it. His hand against his chest clenched, and he felt his heartbeat, his own personal heartbeat, accelerate.

“Mo,” Rich said, voice dripping in absolute concern. 

Moses blinked again, and he felt moisture trickle down his cheeks. He tilted his head down, and watched as splotches of water hit the back of their hands. How strange. He seemed to be leaking.

Crying.

He was crying.

From his eyes. His actual, real eyes. Not borrowed vision from Rich, not an avatar constructed purely from fantasy.

He looked up, met Rich’s gaze. And Rich’s face was concerned, but happy, his hand gently squeezing Moses’.

“It’s okay, baby. It’s okay.”

“I don’t know why I’m crying.” Moses admitted. And then he could feel himself begin to blubber, expression crumbling inward as sobs began to tug at him. He clutched his chest, and felt his heart beat-beat-beat against his palm, and he caressed Rich’s hand, and everything felt so real, so real against himself, his real actual body, and his real life tears coursed aggressively down his face.

“It’s a lot. I’m crying too. See?” Rich’s eyes were indeed wet. He smiled, though, as he used his free hand to gently rub at Moses’ face. He felt the tears rub away with his thumb, but more continued to fall in their wake.

Rich seemed undeterred, though, continuing to dry his eyes. “It’s okay, crying is normal. It’s good, right?”

“Yes.”

“You’re doing so good. You know that?”

“Yes.” He wasn’t sure if he actually knew that. But he said yes all the same. It seemed the right reaction.

“Can we get him, like, a gown or something? So he can stand up?” Rich spoke softly, uncharacteristically soft, as he turned his gaze for a moment to Bernice. She stepped away, as he looked at him again. “We’re going to get you all dolled up, okay?”

“Okay, but if Bernice is picking something, I don’t want to look like a clown.”

That was a rude thing to say, wasn’t it? His head felt floaty and unsteady, so he leaned into Rich’s hands. They were the most sure and steady thing here.

“Very funny. We can’t all go around in monkey suits, Moses.” Bernice brought a hospital gown, much larger than the one Rich was wearing, over. With Rich’s help, they slipped it onto him, Moses whining just a little when the grip of their hands was broken. They pulled the gown onto him, tying it in the back.

“Everyone’s going to see my-”

“Yup. Join the club.” Rich turned slightly, indicating the slit in the back of his gown. With how oversized the fabric was on him, though, it fluttered closed naturally. 

Moses wondered if humanity meant having modesty. 

He glanced at the doctor, then at Bernice, and finally at Rich, and decided he couldn’t particularly care. There was nothing to be ashamed of with some mild nudity. It was just a truth of humanity.

Just another human experiencing the life and times of dealing with a hospital gown.

He laughed to himself, as Bernice instructed him to swivel his legs out. He moved, turning and letting his legs dangle off the bed. His feet hung down, toes touching against the floor.

It was cold, colder than the bed itself had been certainly. He once again felt his toes curl.

Rich reached out and took his other hand. Both hands clutched in his own, he stood in front of Moses.

“You’re just so little, Richard.”

Rich grinned. “Fun sized, babe. Fun sized. You ready to fuckin’ rock and roll?”

“I don’t know. Am I? Which part is the rocking and which part is the rolling?”

“Fuck if I know. But we’re going to do some really killer walking, okay?”

“And everyone is going to see my butt.”

“Damn right they are. Lucky fuckers.” Rich’s laugh infected, and Moses giggled with him.

The world seemed so vast as Moses pressed himself forward. He teetered and creaked, his knees swaying as he pressed his weight down against his toes. His feet pressed flat to the floor as he clung to Rich’s hands. His body lurched for a moment, nearly toppling over, before he straightened himself upright.

Rich’s arms stretched upward a bit with the size difference. He squeezed his hands, and Moses looked around the room at first. It seemed even smaller than before now, his own form filling it effortlessly.

“Whoa.” Rich breathed.

Moses looked down, admiring the way Rich strained his neck to look up at him. They looked at each other, hands clasped, before Rich started bouncing slightly.

“You’re a _big_ fucking boy, Moses, what the fuck?” Rich released his hands, only to instead clasp his arms around his midsection.

Moses wobbled, as Rich’s nose pressed against him. The sensation of his body pressing against his own once more shot an increase into his pulse. He placed his hands against his back, and against the back of his head, cradling him against him.

Once more, he felt tears fill his eyes. He let them fall, his mouth aching with how much he was grinning.

“Is this real life?”

“You bet your sexy bare ass it is,” Rich said, muffled, against Moses’ body. He pulled back just enough to look at him. “And it’s just the beginning.”

Moses felt the breeze against his body as he clung to Rich. Tears in his eyes, hair tickling the back of his neck, and Rich’s breathing rapid but synchronizing with Moses’ own.

He didn’t think it could possibly get any better than this.

But oh, could he ever not wait to experience everything that this new life had to offer.


	24. Chapter 24

The high of anesthetic finally began to inch its way from Moses' body, leaving a warm exhaustion in its wake.

Or at least, he was fairly certain he should have been exhausted. So much had happened, and so quickly.

He giggled, as Rich closed the curtain around their little corner of the lab. It seemed absurd in so many ways, the fact they were trying for modesty now, when they'd certainly not been granted it during the procedure.

Or maybe he was just giggling out of pure joy. An absolute pleasure that he didn't dare press too roughly at, lest he lose it.

Rich held up the outfit, black slacks and a simple button shirt. "Alright, buddy, let's get you all dolled up."

Moses laughed even more.

Maybe the anesthetic hadn't quite worn itself away from him after all.

"Buddy," He repeated. And allowed himself to be spun around, as Rich untied the back of his gown. Gentle fingernails scraped over his back as Moses wriggled his arms, letting the gown slip off himself. He glanced down at the ground, the bunching of fabric on the floor. He kicked, and watched with glee as his own feet, his true fleshy feet, moved the gown away. 

He was able to tangibly move things. Not just manipulate Rich's perspective, or borrow Rich's limbs to carry out tasks. But actually move and kick and change things on his own. 

Rich's fingers continued their gentle ridges up and down his back. Moses arched into it, and he heard his own sigh before he realized the delighted sound was coming from himself.

"You like that?"

"Very much, yes."

He heard Rich creep up onto his tip toes. He leaned forward, pressing a kiss against Moses' back, then slipped his arms around him. He hugged him, cheek nuzzling against him back, his hands resting against his stomach.

"I can't believe I'm actually holding you."

Moses turned around. And he watched as Rich's face turned red, his eyes carefully moving over him.

"...I also can't believe how big your cock looks in the fucking flesh. Dude. Put on your panties, okay? Bernie was real strict about us not boning in here."

"That's right!" The voice called out from outside the curtain. "I'm not about to clean your robo-jizz, so keep it together."

Rich nodded a little. "See? She's strict." He held out the clothes.

Moses took them, his palms clapping over the fabric. He paused, analyzing them for a moment. "This is awful." He finally declared. But there was still amusement in his voice, the absurdity that Rich expected him to wear something like this. He unfolded the boxers from the pile and stared at them, as though they were an artifact from another world. "Why are they so _big_?"

"Because you're a big guy, dude."

Moses set the rest of his clothes down, hooking his thumbs into the elastic and stretching just enough to see the sheer volume of the undergarments. He analyzed them, turning them this way and that. "Am I really that big?" He finally said, a hushed little whisper. He could feel how wide his eyes were set, startled and confused, though not exactly upset.

He knew he was tall.

But it hadn't occurred to him that if he had any physicality, he would take up so much space.

"I mean, yeah, but to be fair, I'm a fucking munchkin." Rich reached over, placing his hand against Moses' stomach. He ran his knuckles over him, as he leaned in and kissed his arm. "Fuck. I can't...I can't get over the fact that you're here."

"Me too."

"I mean, I know you were always here, but you're actually _here_ , you know?"

"Yes." Moses wriggled the fabric of the boxers. A simple cotton blend. His nose creased a little. "I don't think I like these at all." He lowered them finally, stepping first one foot, then the second, into them. 

He felt a sense of profound awkwardness, Rich watching him as he began to tug his underwear on. Another laugh escaped him as he hopped slightly, pulling his underwear into place. Rich joined him in giggles this time. 

"See? Now you put on your underwear one leg at a time, or whatever that fucking expression is."

Moses waited for his automatic processors to fill in the origins and full phraseology of the cliche.

When it didn't, he grinned even wider than he had before.

"I have never heard that expression before in my entire life."

"No, dude, you know. Like, it's to show relatability or something. Just like, you know, thinking about the fact the Pope shits or whatever. Common expressions."

"That...I am 99% positive 'the pope shits' is not a common expression."

"It's like what I have to remind myself, when people get all high and mighty, you know. It's _my_ common expression. Or, dude, like how bears shit in the woods or whatever. Like those fucking Charmin bears. Those fuckers are nasty, dude. Like, what family sits around talking about the bathroom that much, really? Get a goddamned life. I..." Rich trailed off, smiling sheepishly. "This isn't how I pictured our first in person, full body conversation to go."

"I want to eat you out so bad."

He should have timed it better. But Rich was beautiful and lively, and Moses could feel his own tongue, heavy and valuable, within his mouth. And he wanted to put it to good use, now.

"Mo," Rich cackled. His fingers slipped into Moses', squeezing his hand. His actual, fully fingered, real hand. "Not yet, dude. Jesus. You're a sick little bird, getting all turned on there. Sick sick little bird." He swung their hands together, then picked up the clothes. "Now come on. Put this on. So we can go shopping."

"Shopping!"

It wasn't that shopping itself sounded particularly thrilling. He'd been to stores numerous times, accompanying Rich, helping him choose the right attire to craft his carefully attained persona, or choosing the right blend of protein and nutrients between comfort snacks to retain muscle mass. 

But he'd never been able to pick out items for himself. 

He started to pull on the slacks, trying and failing to keep the excitement from his voice. "What sort of shopping?"

"Well, clothes for one. Because I guarantee you're going to not want to wear this for very long, fucking snobberino."

"I'm not a snob."

Moses pulled the pants up his body. The legs were too short, but the cut of the crotch was too long, and the style itself was entirely out of season.

Not to mention that he didn't like the way wearing cloth underneath cloth felt. First chance he got, he was ditching the boxers.

"I hate this," He said, but with a bright smile on his face. To think, he had the opportunity to hate things. "Why are they the way that they are?"

"What? Fabric that covers your junk?"

"Terrible! Look at them. Look at this." He put his hands in his pockets, tugging outward to highlight the bagginess in all the wrong places. "What am I supposed to be? MC Hammer?"

"Probably not, because I _can_ touch this."

"This is unacceptable." But he couldn't stop beaming about it. He twirled around, feeling the awful pants move seemingly independent, bogged down with too much material in all the wrong places. He glanced at the pile of clothes. "What are these?"

"Socks, babe."

"Why are they white?"

"Baaaabe! You see? You're a five star snob."

"What's next? Sandals?" But he pulled the socks on, just to test if he liked the feeling of fabric against his feet.

As it turned out, it was more pleasant than the feeling of his undergarments were. The socks, while too vibrantly ivory for the ensemble, would do, at least.

Rich rolled his eyes. "I'm not that bad. Besides, I didn't pick the clothes, or else you'd be wearing a sick fucking, like, Hugh Hefner robe or something. And a pipe. That'd be fucking sick. Holy fuck." He picked up the shirt, Moses turning around to allow him to slip it over his arms. Like the pants, the sleeves were all wrong, too short against him. Moses tried to offset it by rolling them up, but the muscles of his arms were too thick, or perhaps the shirt was too tight.

Moses let them go, instead opting to carefully button up the shirt.

Definitely too tight.

"Then who picked out the clothes?"

"I dunno. The doc I guess."

"Of course. He looks like he dresses in the dark."

"I can hear you," The voice came in softly, uncertainly.

And Moses smiled, nudging Rich. "Did you hear that?"

"What?"

"He could hear me." He swore if he kept smiling like this, the expression would permanently freeze in place.

***

It felt strange, going from something so lifechanging to immediately leaping into the mundane.

("Next shopping trip, you'll have to take me with you," Bernice had insisted, reaching out and adjusting Moses' collar. It hadn't occurred to him that her body heat would be so present, and Moses realized with delight that his own body radiated the same heat.

"You'll have to check in next week, of course, to make sure everything is working properly," Dr. Miller had added his own goodbye statements. 

And Rich seemed incapable of releasing his touch on Mo, even as they waved and stepped out of the lab)

Moses watched the automatic doors shoot open for them. He gasped, almost startled by it. Not so much by their invention. After all, he'd seen Rich travel through these same doors numerous times.

But the sensor had picked up on his size, his presence. Had opened for him.

"Damn, dude, your mind is going to be blown by security cameras," Rich teased. He skipped up beside him, taking his hand once again. The constant contact had not yet ended.

Moses hoped it never did.

And, as it turned out, Rich's words were right. As the store's CTVs broadcast their images in greyscale, Moses stared at the poorly dressed visage, walking forward in stunned silence and watching the being on the TV repeat the steps himself.

That was him.

He was being recorded.

He existed in a form that was capable of being recorded.

Rich skipped ahead, grabbing a cart, wheeling it back and grabbing Mo's hand again. "Come on, bro." He yanked him forward, and Moses felt himself stumble, just a little. His hair, which had been pulled back into a casual braid, bounced vibrantly. It felt heavy as it hit the base of his neck and the top of his back. 

"I know this is also not going to quite fit your criteria, but we gotta get the staples at least. Some t-shirts, some socks, some panties-"

"No panties."

Rich looked at him in surprise. "Freeballer, huh?" He considered it, giving a little nod of approval. "Nice."

Rich hopped up, resting his feet on the metal of the cart, hands clasping at the handle. Moses slid up behind him, his own feet on the ground. Rich's back pressed against his chest, leaning back against him. Moses placed his hands on either side of Rich's own, pushing the cart and, with it, Rich, guiding him forward.

"Holy shit, we're obnoxious," Rich said gleefully. He grinned as a woman, guiding her children away from them, shot them looks of annoyance.

"You two need to grow up," She said scoldingly. "This is not a playground."

Rich and Moses both laughed brightly, without changing their positions. "Yeah, Mo," Rich cackled. "Grow the fuck up."

He smiled, nuzzling the side of Rich's head. The woman tutted in disapproval, walking off with her spawn. 

It seemed an overreaction to simple PDA and the very minor misuse of a shopping cart.

But did it really matter? The important part was that she'd seen them. Both of them. As a token unit of two. An immature cluster. A pair.

A couple.

A viable, visible, real couple.

Moses would have skipped, except he wasn't sure he knew how to with these new legs. And he didn't want to disrupt the symmetry of their bodies pressed together.

Rich was right, of course. The clothes at this store weren't quite up to Moses' standards. They paused in the men's section, Rich fumbling among the smalls, while Moses found himself among the extra larges. 

"Maybe it would have made more sense to downgrade my size for this body," Moses mused, looking over the selection in mild annoyance. 

"Hell no dude, unless you're donating that size to a good cause." Rich waltzed back over to him. "That cause is me. I'm very small and I need some inches, good sir. Please spare."

Moses placed his hand on top of Rich's head, ruffling his hair simply because he could.

They managed to find a few choices, with Moses vowing they would go to a proper, higher end store down the line. They headed for the dressing rooms, only for the woman manning the area to banish Rich to a rickety line of chairs. "He can come out and show you, but we only allow one in a room at a time, darling," She said, apologetically. Her eyes moved to Moses, a smile on her overly glossed face. "Sorry, sugar."

"Oh." Moses felt his voice quiver a little at having a set of eyes on him. He glanced left, then right, then at the employee. "Me?"

Rich snickered. "It's all good." He pushed a bundle of clothing into Moses' arms, then waved him off. "Go try things on."

Moses blinked, balancing the hangers as he stepped forward, directed into the nearest empty fitting room. He latched it shut, and gawked at the assortment of clothing.

Mostly because it was hitting him that this was the first time he'd ever truly been separated from Rich.

Bernice had promised that life outside of a host was quiet. But everything buzzed with noise. The crinkle of clothing. The low murmurs of other customers. The clang of doors slamming. He flexed his toes, within disgustingly brown shoes and adequately white socks, just to relish in the sensation.

His eyes turned to the mirror. And he smiled, only to watch his reflection beam back at him.

That was him. His body. His face. His terrible outfit. And the employee had refused to let his boyfriend come back with him because she was worried they'd have sex in the changing room.

To be fair, they'd done that back when Moses had been formless, so it probably was a valid worry.

But she didn't know that. For all she knew, he was just another human. A standard issue pervert.

He began to strip out of his clothes finally, giddy trembles passing through his body. He was in a store. His boyfriend was waiting outside the room. He'd been unfairly chastised and judged and recorded on over the top store security and he was about to buy clothes for himself, from a selection that was sadly lacking, and if that wasn't just a wholly human problem, honestly!

He kept finding himself distracted with every change in attire. Admiring every shirt, whether gorgeous or tacky. Caressing his hands over his pants, admiring the lines and patterns. The way his own body stretched and filled every article of clothing. It tickled parts of himself he'd never known he'd been lacking before, satisfied a craving he'd never fully dared to voice.

"You were supposed to show me your outfits when you tried them on, dude!" Rich protested when Moses finally stepped out of the room, handing the attendant the outfits that wouldn't work, and setting the ones he liked into the cart. He was operating purely on memory of how Rich behaved in these stores, and hoped he was imitating it all properly.

"Oh. Oops."

"You can show me at home, it's okay." Rich slipped his hand into Moses' back pocket as he leaned into to kiss his cheek. His fingers flexed, expression confused. "Did you-"

"I don't know what you're talking about." Moses said innocently, as they went off to look at the shoe selection.

Under the bench in the fitting room, a barely worn pair of boxers lay, bunched and forgotten.


	25. Chapter 25

Arms full of shopping bags, they stood before the grocery store. Moses watched in awe, the absolute apathy and indifference of every shopper entering and exiting. Screaming kids bounced in shopping carts, exhausted mothers tiredly adjusted scrunchied messy buns, college students frantically checked their palms full of change.

It was almost too much.

Moses’ stomach knotted with an emotion he wasn’t altogether sure how to classify. He’d been installed with knowledge that emotions and stress caused physical sensation, had indeed experienced these sensations through Rich. But to have his own stomach bubbling and churning…

He balanced the bags of clothing on his wrists and gingerly touched his stomach.

And grinned, broad and giddy. “I think I have social anxiety!” He chirped.

Rich laughed, looping his arms around his midsection. “I shouldn’t laugh about that. I’m sorry. You’re just so cute and perky about everything.”

Mo ran his fingers through Rich’s hair, just because he could. The momentum caused the bags to swing, softly thrapping Rich in the face.

There was a moment of still, of stunned quiet.

Rich burst into giggles. “C’mon,” he took his wrist, guiding him in through those still captivating automatic doors. “We’ve got a lot of experience to pack into one Black Friday.”

***

“One per customer, please.”

Moses lingered near the edge of the crowd. He watched in awe, as the smaller people darted in, grabbed a toothpick containing something vaguely cheddar flavored, then scampered out.

Every time he tried to shuffle nearer, someone scrambled in his place. “My apologies,” Moses said. Or “Pardon me.” Or an outright, “Terribly sorry” as a shopping cart bashed into the backs of his ankles.

Pain radiated, pulsing in its deliciously unpleasant way.

“Watch where you’re fucking going, you geriatric septic tank!” Rich snapped. He was all elbows and gnashing teeth, shoving forth to grab two of the free samples. He waltzed back to Moses, holding one up for him.

“Septic tank?”

“I didn’t wanna say ‘shit bag’ in public. I’m classy,” Rich beamed.

Except that was probably offset by his dropping of the F word.

“Now come on!” Rich waved his arms enthusiastically, gesturing towards the mini cheese log. “Pop it in your tasting hole and tell me what you think.”

Moses lifted the toothpick up towards his mouth. He wet his lips with his tongue. The aroma of artificial cheddar coiled sharply in his nose and he shivered at the almost palpable sensation of it. How scent so easily felt as though someone were stroking the inside of his nose.

His lips parted with a pop, as he guided the orange crunch into his mouth. He grasped it with his teeth, tugging on it until it was free of the wooden stick. It rolled into his mouth, plopping heavily onto his tongue.

His first taste of food.

Moses closed his mouth, rolling it around and feeling the cheesy powder flake off the cylinder. He tilted his head, until it tumbled between his molars. He crunched it, feeling it splinter and crinkle between his teeth. 

He chewed on it thoughtfully, mushing it into nothingness. Then gave the paste a long swallow, licking his lips afterwards. 

“Well?” Rich questioned.

“That was terrible!” Moses chirped, his smile overpowering his face. The rancid flavor lingered on his tongue, as he scraped it against his teeth. “Positively vile!”

Rich cackled. “You look so happy about it.”

“I may vomit,” Moses smiled happily at the notion. He let Rich guide him back to the shopping cart as they scooted off to the cereal aisle.

***

“Blasphemers! Sodomites! The fires of hell descend upon the sinners and non-believers. Armageddon-”

“Cool,” Rich breathed. His fingers laced in Moses’.

It drew the ire and attention of the street preacher. His gnarled finger pointed aggressively in their direction.

“Sodomites!”

“He already said that,” Moses said cheerily.

Rich reached into his pocket, drawing out a fistful of pennies. He tossed them at the preacher’s feet. “Bravo! Encore! Dance, monkey, dance!”

“Sodomites! Blasphemers!”

“Okay, this is a rerun. Let’s bounce.”

***

“We’ve got to find you actual good food because eating is the best best thing about being human.” Rich had insisted.

And thus they found themselves at a dive of an all you can eat buffet. 

Moses shuffled close to Rich, holding out his plate in quiet obedience as Rich scooped a layer of mashed potatoes onto his plate.

“Gravy or no gravy?”

“Yes.” Dimly, Moses was aware a question had been asked of him. He looked around, at the whiny children and fed up mothers, at long bearded men, teenagers with airpods jammed in place. And then his gaze moved to aisle after aisle of steaming hot food.

Rich smiled, using the serving spoon to split the mound of food in two. He covered one of the piles in gravy. “A little overwhelmed, babe?”

“Huh?”

Rich teetered onto his toes. He grabbed Mo by the collar, tugging him down. Moses clung to his plate to keep from dropping it, as warm lips pressed over his cheek.

“You wanna sit down?”

“No, I still have room for more.”

“My BOY!” Rich squealed excitedly. He guided Moses down the next few lanes, a steady stream of commentary and expertise as he piled Moses’ plate higher and higher.

They settled into their booth finally, readjusting the table to account for their contrasting sizes. Moses still felt cramped, table pressing against his stomach.

“Wanna switch to a table and chairs?” Rich kicked his legs back and forth in his own seat.

“No.”

“You’re grinning, like, so much.”

“I know. My cheeks hurt.”

“Maybe you should wear underwear then.”

Moses tilted his head in confusion. Rich snickered.

“As in your ass cheeks, dude. You didn’t specify.”

“Oh.” Moses blushed slightly. “No, those are fine.”

Rich giggled, kicking one foot up to softly rub against his thigh.

“Eat.”

“As they say,” Moses said as he picked up a fork, “You’re not the boss of me.”

“Who’s ‘they’?”

“The people.”

“Ah, so you’re just quoting The Man.”

“No, it’s a gender neutral people--how do you hold this, Richard?”

“Oh!” Rich reached across the table. He adjusted Moses’ fingers, helping them settle against the utensil. “But hey, babe, if it’s too uncomfortable, just use your hands.”

“For gravy?”

“Worked for Beauty and the Beast.”

It took him a moment to recall the scene he was thinking of. “That was porridge. Did...did you think he was drinking a bowl of gravy?”

Rich was quiet a moment, stirring a spoon through the bowl of soup he’d gotten. Finally, he offered a quiet, meek, “Maybe.”

A small laugh escaped Moses.

“Hey, man, beasts love gravy.”

“And what scientific study did you pull that one from?”

“Uh, _Your Ass Quarterly_.”

“No, I think you pulled it out of your ass, actually.”

“Inappropriate dinner time conversation, Trash Master General. Eat your food.”

Moses dangled the fork over his plate. 

And before he realized it, he was forking mouthfuls of flavor combinations into his mouth. Bite after succulent bite. 

“Well?” Rich asked after several ravenous moments of feasting.

“Oh my _God_ ,” Moses practically drooled on himself. “Eating is the BEST.”

“I told you!”

“Oh my GOD!”

“Better than cheese log?”

“Holy cannoli!”

The words slipped from him unbidden. He hadn’t even realized they were programmed into his word bank.

Rich blinked, a long, hardly comprehending look. “Holy-”

“No need to dwell on it,” Moses said quickly. He stuffed a bite of dinner roll into his mouth, as Rich started laughing once again.

Moses sputtered around his bread, coughing as he swallowed too sharply, a fit of laughter completely overtaking him.

***

“I’m too big,” He frowned. “I’ll break it.”

“Pfft. Gay. Your dick can’t be that big. You’re not going to squish it. Your balls, either.”

“I...what?” Moses blinked. “No, no, I mean my body is too big. I’ll break the swing. Or your arms.”

“Get in the swing, you goofball-ass bitch.”

“Rude.” But he sat, gingerly, in the seat.

It felt strange, suspending his weight on the swing. The chains creaked, and he nervously glanced back at Rich.

“This is silly.”

“Yup.”

“So we shouldn’t do it.”

“Nope. Kick your feet up.”

Moses reluctantly obeyed, feet floating off the ground. His hands grasped at the cold chains of the handles.

Rich’s hands moved over his back. Moses shivered, leaning back against his touch.

“Damn, dude. Even your back is sexy. Hold on, okay?”

“Okay.”

Rich moved his hands away from his back, grabbing the chains just beneath where Moses clutched. He pulled backwards, maneuvering him as though Moses didn’t weigh anything at all.

The effect was mesmerizing the moment Rich released him. He glided forward, his stomach jumping as gravity flipped and defied. He stared up at the sky, and even knowing he wasn’t very high, he felt weightless, soaring. He fell back, Rich’s hands catching him against his shoulder blades, pushing him higher. 

“This used to be my favorite,” Rich commented, as Moses kicked his feet eagerly. He caught his back every time in capable palms, pressing him closer to the clouds every time. “My mom used to take me to this real dump of a playground. And there was only one good swing. But it felt like I was flying.”

Rich fell silent, pushing Moses carefully, before laughing softly. “Sorry. I shouldn’t bring her up.”

Moses waited for his memories to fill his mind like pictures, but the images never came. “Sunshine-”

“But yo! Look! Hummingbirds!”

It was an obvious ploy to change the subject. But his eyes rose in the direction he was guided. Small birds flitted about and Moses sucked in a startled breath. Everything glowed with beauty and life, and he was a part of it.

As the swing reached the maximum height, Moses pushed himself from the seat. For a moment, he was weightless, floating through the air.

He tumbled in a heap in the grass.

“Shit!” Rich exclaimed. He leapt forward, bringing himself down on his knees beside him. “Shit. Shit! Mo, are you-”

Moses reached up, his hand grasping Rich’s tank top. He tugged him down, Rich’s arms windmilling, before he crashed down upon Moses’ chest. He grunted in surprise, silenced as Moses cupped his hand against the back of his head. He guided him down, lips flush against his own.

Rich sighed against him, as Moses kissed him. He tasted sweet, sticky soft-serve on his breath from the buffet. His breath was warm where it hit Moses’ face. Carefully, he pet his hair, urging deeper kisses from him.

“Did you feel like you could touch the sky?” Rich asked as they broke for air.

Moses panted for a moment, petting Rich’s cheek.

“I still do.”

***

They stood before the ice cream stand. Moses’ eyes were wide, watching as they piled scoops onto his waffle cone.

“Aren’t you full?” Rich teased, bumping their hips together. Or rather, bumping his hip against Moses’ leg.

“I don't know. What does full feel like?” His voice was earnest, honest, and he didn’t anticipate Rich’s laughter, but it made him smile.

He collected the cone, as Rich handed the money over to the attendant. His tongue swirled over every flavor, strawberry and vanilla and sprinkles exploding pleasantly in his mouth. It tasted so good that he had to chomp into the dessert, teeth first.

“Careful, you’ll get a brain freeze.”

“What’s that? A form of paralysis? A stroke?”

He continued his quickened pace all the same.

Until he felt a tingling, gripping pain inside his skull. He tightened his grip on the cone, until it shattered in his touch. Cool, half-melted cream slithered onto his palm, down his wrist, and he laughed gleefully as his other hand rubbed his forehead.

Rich winced sympathetically. “Bad?”

“I can feel pain.”

And certainly he’d already felt it when the cart had hit him. But this was a different pain. Fascinating.

“Masochistic little weirdo,” Rich said fondly.

“I need more ice cream.”

***

They sat on the banks near the small lake, watching the ducks waddle about. Moses tipped his head back, undoing the binding of his hair, and letting the breeze blowing loose strands of his hair backwards. Rich’s hand was warm where it rested against the back of his own.

The first animal to approach was a squirrel. 

Moses watched as fluffy tail twitched, as small black eyes assessed. It scampered closer, climbing onto Moses’ leg.

“What the fuck?” Rich said breathlessly, as the squirrel darted up Moses’ body, nestling against his shoulder.

The squirrel was followed by a chipmunk. And then an undersized field mouse. And then two songbirds. And a hummingbird, resting against an outstretched index finger.

Rich stared at Moses in shocked awe. “You’re like a legit Disney princess.”

Moses dared not laugh lest he frighten the tiny creatures. But he smiled broadly as the chatter of fauna flourished about him.

He was certain he was going to rather enjoy this whole “being alive” thing.


	26. Chapter 26

Moses’ arms were full of shopping bags, clothes and food and miscellaneous novelties. And his shoulders were full of Rich, bouncing and eager, his legs flung over and dangling against Moses’ chest. His chin rested on top of Mo’s head, fingers casually petting his hair. Rich was somehow both weightier and lighter than he’d ever anticipated.

Clutched in Moses’ hand was a large strawberry-banana shake. His stomach ached. He supposed that was fullness. It was unpleasant and exhilarating. He took a long drink, before holding the drink upward. Rich leaned over, lips grasping the straw. He giggled as he took a drink of it, until Moses inevitably lowered it again.

“I can’t believe I’m sharing a milkshake with my boyfriend,” Rich cooed delightedly.

“I don’t know if I’d call it sharing. You drank most of it.”

“Hey!” Rich laughed. “You offered.”

“If you say so.” Moses tried to shrug, but Rich’s body weighed him down.

“I do. I do say so.”

They walked up to the house. It looked bigger than Moses remembered. He set the bags down on the porch, as Rich wriggled and hopped off his back.

Feeling his body rubbing against him made him shiver. He could feel every inch of his lithe body. Moses bit his lip, the sensation of teeth against skin sharp but comforting. He set the shake down beside the bags, and turned around to face his boyfriend.

“Richard.”

“Yeah?”

“I need you.”

“Aww!” Rich pressed his hands against Moses’ hips and tugged him close, as Moses leaned down to kiss him. “I need you too.”

Moses cupped his face, turning it to the left, then the right, just to admire the way the sun glinted from his skin.

“I’m terribly sorry,” Moses cooed. “I just can’t wait a second longer.”

And he hefted him up, cradling him in his arms. He could have carried him inside. But then he’d have to get the keys and bring in the bags and frankly, it was too nice a day to coop up indoors.

He glanced around, spotting the shrubbery decorating the outdoors. It circled about, leaving enough of a clearing in the center for two bodies to curl in together.

Bullying his way through the shrubs, he couldn’t help but smile at the way Rich squeaked in surprise. Moses mashed their lips together, the bushes cutting up against his legs.

He didn’t care.

Once they were through, he set Rich on the ground, before sitting down with him in the grass and dirt. Just hidden enough in their own private outdoor world.

“Whoa, wait, you’re gonna touch my bush, in a bush? Bushception--mmm,” Rich’s words cut out as Moses kissed him again.

Moses placed his hand against Rich’s stomach, snaking in under his shirt to rub his bare skin. He felt warm, and soft, and Moses dipped his tongue into his mouth with a happy sigh. Rich’s hands gripped his shoulders, as Moses inched his hand higher. He caressed the spandex material of his binder and Rich snorted, albeit softly.

“Does everything feel okay?”

“Better than okay.” Moses smilled, tugging at the bottom of the binder. It seemed to pop, as it pulled over his breasts. They bounced, as Moses eagerly pulled Rich’s shirt up over his chest. Rich grabbed the material of his shirt, holding it in place as Moses ogled his chest. His nipples were perked, pink, and he reached out to pinch one. Rich breathed heavily, pulling his shirt off completely, then shimmying his binder off overhead.

“My handsome boy.”

Rich giggled again, as a dull blush arched over his face, down his chest. “I’m nothing speci--oh. Oh!” Moses’ hands grasped both of his breasts, squeezing them, then feeling their weight in his palms.

His dull blush become considerably sharper.

“Babe,” He whimpered as Mo’s thumbs moved over his nipples. “Holy shit.”

“Good?”

“The best.”

Moses chuckled, as he leaned in to kiss his neck. The top half of Rich’s clothes fell into the dirt, as Rich wrapped his arms around Mo’s neck.

Moses lowered him down onto his back, sucking on his neck. He squeezed his breasts, kneeling over him. His leg slipped between his legs, pressing up against his groin. He kept the pressure on him, smirking as Rich wriggled and rubbed up against him. He could feel the heat of him radiate against him. Lips pulled away from RIch’s neck, traveling along his jawline to steal his lips once again.

“It feels fuckin’ killer.” Rich gasped as Moses pulled his lips away. Moses dropped his weight down against him, though he kept his hands on the ground to keep from crushing him. He pressed down, kissing between his breasts. He started to lick at him, lapping at his chest, first his left breast. His tongue rose higher until it flicked against his nipple, sucking it between his lips, scraping his teeth very lightly against the skin.

He tasted delicate and warm and Moses wanted to drip ice cream down his chest, to lick him clean, yet leave him sticky and sweet.

There were other ways to get him sticky though.

He lifted his head, pulling back to kneel before him. His hands worked into the waistband of his pants as he dragged them down Rich’s body. Rich kicked his legs, until his pants completely slid free from him. He cupped him, feeling the weight of his packer, and squeezing it, maneuvering it about just to rub it against his body.

“Oh…” Rich sighed. “Oh, fuck. Super killer. The killingest. Ah...this is the good shit, bro. If you could only feel what I’m feeling.”

“I think I’m enjoying my sensations well enough.”

Carefully, he flipped down the elastic of his underwear. He tugged them down, catching the silicone of his packer in the process. He set both aside carefully, once he removed his underwear.

“How, like, do I look?” Rich bit his lip, as Moses scanned his naked body.

“Why are you so nervous? I’ve seen you before.”

“Yeah but this is different. New body. New rules.”

It did feel different. He’d thought perhaps because they were outside.

But he realized he wasn’t spending most of his energy maintaining an illusion, building a fantasy of hallucinations to trick Rich’s mind.

“You’re beautiful,” Moses insisted, as he slipped his hand between his legs. Eager fingers parted him open, and he admired the pink of his insides.

Rich squirmed. “You’re like totally lewd, staring at me like that.”

Moses grabbed Rich’s wrist, guiding his hand down insistently. He placed his fingers against himself, then grabbed his other hand.

Rich rolled his eyes, but obediently held himself spread. “Lewd as _fuck_ , bro.”

Moses rubbed his fingers against his clit, after licking them to make them slick. Rich’s hands quivered against himself, and Moses watched in satisfaction as his wetness soaked his skin, shimmering. He leaned forth, once more sucking on one of his nipples.

“It’s cold, dude.”

“Cold?” Moses questioned, lifting his head. He nuzzled his nose against Rich’s.

“Like, in my pussy?”

Moses smirked. “Too bad.” He pulled back, rubbing his clit and looking at the meal spread before him.

And meals were made to be eaten. He’d learned that well today.

Dropping between Rich’s legs, he batted his hands away. His breath caressed over him, softling rustling the fine hairs against him. He pinched them, tugging on them until Rich lifted his hips, squeaking in surprise.

“Okay, Pubert, calm it down.”

“You’re so soft. Do you condition?”

“My _pubes_? The hell??”

“Ah, I guess I know you don’t. I watch you bathe.”

“That’d be creepy if it came from anyone else.”

Moses slipped his hand over the lips of his cunt. Really, asking about conditioner was a ridiculous notion because all of Rich was soft. Soft, and wet, and desperately in need of a thorough fucking.

Rich panted eagerly, as Moses slipped a finger between his lips. His legs spread, as Moses moaned at the warm heat that pressed around him.

“Oh,” He whispered. “Were you always this tight?”

“I mean, dude, I’ve been fucking a hallucination for the past few months. That doesn’t exactly loosen you up.”

“Oh right.” Moses snickered. And sank his finger in deeper, up past his knuckles. He twisted it, beckoning upward and pressing over the interior of his boyfriend’s slick body. Rich’s cunt clenched against him, as his hips jerked down against his touch.

“Fuck. Fingering is my _favorite_ ,” He admitted with a gleeful sort of enthusiasm.

Moses chuckled. “So you’ve said before, my love.” He carefully moved his finger in and out of him, the thickness of his own digits surprising him. Rich wriggled and squirmed, thrashing against dirt and grass and looking up at Moses with half-lidded eyes.

“I’m going to make you squirt when I fuck you,” Moses said matter of factly.

Rich rolled his eyes. “That’s a myth. People don’t actually do that--OH!”

Moses leaned down, wrapping his lips around Rich’s clit. He sucked upon it, famished, as he stroked his finger inside him. 

And he tore an orgasm from Rich, leaving him shuddering and stunned as Moses pulled his mouth away with a delicious lick of his lips. Rich tasted better than he’d anticipated. He drew his finger out, soaked and sticky, and immediately slipped it into his mouth.

“A-ah, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to do it so soon,” Rich whimpered, shame starting to cross his face.

“What do you mean? That’s what I wanted. I’m clearly very skilled when it comes to your body.”

 

Rich lifted one of his legs, his foot kicking playfully at Moses’ chest until he fell back dramatically. “Well yeah, but you basically have a handbook on me, so that’s hardly fair!”

Moses grabbed Rich’s leg, tugging him up against his chest. Rich’s face was pressed against Moses’ (still clothed) stomach, his legs pressing on either side of his face. 

The angle was picturesque and Moses buried his face into his cunt from behind.

“J-JESUS CHRIST WHAT THE HELL?” Rich squealed. His legs kicked dangerously close to Moses’ head, as Moses buried himself that much deeper into him.

“I can’t...I can’t 69 you, dude, I’m too short.” Rich strained to try to reach Moses’ dick, instead settling for squeezing him with his hand through his pants. Moses shivered as his hand traced over him. Rich tugged Moses’s shirt up, pressing frantic kisses over the muscles of his abdomen, as Moses worked his tongue inside him.

Moses slapped Rich’s ass, giving it a hearty squeeze, as he continued to suck and lap at his cunt. Rich trembled, his body gyrating back against his lips, leaving Moses’ face soaked. The leaves of the shrub scraped against the top of Moses’ head, but true to form, it wasn’t the bush he was interested in entertaining right now.

Rich shuddered against him, slapping his other hand against the ground in repetition, jerking his eager little hips, as his cunt throbbed around Moses’ tongue. His moans muffled against Moses’ stomach, as he came with a desperate whine.

Moses lifted his hips upward, and smirked at the way Rich dripped against him. 

“Gross,” Rich protested. “That’s gross. I’m-”

“Delicious.” Moses growled. He licked his lips, then pushed Rich onto his back on the ground. Moses crawled over him, frantically tugging at his own clothing. “I need you, sunshine. I need you now.”

“Fuck,” Rich wheezed. “Fuck, yes, take me, Mo-mageddon.”

He paused. “Moma-what?”

“Like armageddon or whatever. Yo, do you remember that movie? It fucking suck-”

Moses kissed him again, delighting in the way Rich wriggled from the taste of himself on Moses’ mouth.

“Man you’re sick, dude.” Rich sighed, utterly blissed out. His eyes moved over Moses, as Moses finally freed himself of the last scrap of his clothing. He grinned. “I can’t believe you ditched your panties though, dude. You’re a total sexpot.”

“That wasn’t why I took them off. They were uncomfortable.”

“We should be nudists.”

Moses considered it, as he pushed Rich’s thighs apart. He settled himself between them, grasping Rich’s hips and lifting them. He pulled him down against his cock, pressing until the head settled between his wetness, poised at his entrance without yet breaching it.

“Perhaps in the house, yes. No more clothing.”

“W-whoa, wait, I was joking, Mo. I was totally...ohhh.”

He could have pushed himself forward.

But instead, he pulled Rich down upon him. Fingers digging into the soft skin of his hips as he guided him down inch by swollen inch until he was completely submerged into Rich’s body.

“Fuck. It’s like you’re in my belly.”

Moses hesitated, eyes widening a little. “Too much?”

“Fuck no, dude. Holy FUCK.”

Moses released the hold on his hip, to pet his hair, and his cheek, and smiled as Rich nuzzled against him, turning his head to nibble playfully at his fingertips.

Rich wrinkled his nose, another laugh escaping him between breathy pants. “Everything tastes like pussy.”

“Just how I like it.”

“Like I said. Lewd.”

“Shush. I need to make you squirt now.”

“Dude, I already came twice. There’s no fucking wayYY” His voice hitched upward as Moses grabbed his hips, and began to fuck him, hard and deep and slow.

Rich’s eyes were wide, almost startled, as Moses used him. His fingers grasped at his shoulders, pulling himself upward to meet every thrust with enthusiasm.

“Holy shit,” He whispered.

Moses doubled over him, kissing him softly.

“My sunshine.”

“Holy fucking tit-shitters.”

It wasn’t exactly cutting edge romantic dialogue. Moses buried his face against Rich’s neck and laughed giddily.

“You feel so good on me.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes. I can’t wait to cum inside you.”

“F-fuck, yeah, you can actually cum for real now! Instead of just the...ohhh, fuck, how can this feel so good?”

“You’re overstimulated and sensitive. It’s actually a fascinatingly human feature, how…” Moses trailed off. That was a hypothetical statement.

And more importantly, he couldn’t maintain a conversation while he was balls deep in the tiny body of his host and lover.

He came inside him, a sudden jerking sensation that seemed to unravel every bit of his new body. He was certain he must have broken something, yet he continued to fuck Rich as though he weren’t falling completely apart. He pumped within Rich’s body, milking his own pleasure, and determined to get Rich off again.

He hit him in just the right spot, reacting to every bit of tension and desperate sound from Rich’s sweet mouth. He reached down, pressing his palm against his clit, pressure and motion, almost painfully intense.

And then Rich came, a verifiable fountain of pleasure, and Moses felt it hit his chest, and his face. He blinked, realizing some of it had gotten into his hair, and he laughed joyously as Rich wriggled helpless on the ground.

“Holy fuck.” Rich whined. His voice was ragged and raw, but he kissed Moses back with a lazy sort of energy as they joined together again. He whimpered as Moses pulled himself out of him, and Moses marveled in the feeling of his own cum against himself, and glanced down in amazement, seeing the physical results of their lovemaking staining Rich’s thighs and cunt.

“Fuck, I’m basically a fleshlight,” Rich murmured. “You’re so big, I can’t do anything but just...fuck. Was I boring?”

“Never.” Moses scraped his fingers through Rich’s hair, not hard enough to pull or hurt him, but just enough pressure to force Rich’s head back. He bit his neck, moaning against him. “I don’t think this body has a refractory period, Richard.”

“I...oh my god, are you hard again?”

“Perhaps we could try it from behind next?”

“Jesus, dude, your shake is probably all melted--fuck it, okay, let me breathe and I’ll flip over, babe, okay?”


	27. Chapter 27

From there, things began to accelerate. Everything began to pass so quickly that Moses reeled with the intensity of it. 

The intensity of life.

“Yeah, he’s got a full on body,” Rich boasted over the phone. Both he and Moses shared an innertube in the pool, Moses laying in it first, ass through the central hole of the tub, legs sprawled over the sides. Rich lay on top of him, though in the other direction, perpendicular. His phone lay precariously on the pool’s edge.

Taking phone calls in the pool seemed to be a running routine for him.

Jake’s voice came out clearly through the speaker. “So he’s a real boy now?”

“Call my motherfucking ass Gepeto. Hell yeah, bitchass.” Rich prodded Mo’s side. “Say hi, babe.”

“Oh. Um. Hello.” He wriggled anxiously against the tube. His hair had been pulled into a messy bun atop his head, and he twisted a loose strand around his index finger.

The phone was quiet for a moment. “Whoa.”

“Jake! Say hi back.”

“Oh right. Hey, dude!”

“Um. Hello.”

“Sup?”

“Jesus, is this a mobius strip of greetings? Where does it begin? Where does it end? Christ on a cracker.” Rich griped.

“Hey. I’m just being nice to your boyyyyyfriiiend.” Jake stretched it out with a bright little giggle at the end.

Moses only realized he was blushing when Rich winked at him.

“Damn, dude, you’re just jealous that I’m getting some good dick.”

“Yo. But speaking of good dick. Shit’s going really crazy at school.”

“What does that have to do with dick? Is Chloe a futa?”

“I said good di--isn’t that offensive?”

“I got big trans energy. I can say it.”

Moses gently rubbed his leg, as Jake laughed again. “No dude. Not Chloe. Jeremy.”

“Heere?”

“No, he’s still in Middle Borough.”

Rich sighed heavily, rolling his eyes. He cupped his hand in the water, splashing Moses in the face. Mo snorted, as Rich kicked his legs in the water.

“Okay. What about Big Dick Jeremy?”

“I didn’t say big. I said good. Apparently. He’s fucked about half the school, for one thing.”

“YO. WHAT??”

“And his acne’s all gone, and he wears these ridiculously tight pants. And he killed that bitch-”

“Is he in juvie?? What in the fuck!??!”

“-on stage. He was good in the play, dude. Christine keeps talking about him. Everyone’s been talking about him.”

“Gay.”

“Right? And get this,” Jake’s voice lowered conspiratorially. “He’s banging Brooke.”

“No!”

“Fuck yeah he is.”

“That’s cute though.” Rich said, already growing tired of the catty nature of the gossiping with a little shrug. “They’re probably, like, really happy together. They’ve got that Small Puppy Energy.”

“Brooke Lohst, Rich. And Jeremy Heere. I don’t even get what either of them...never mind, it’s not important. This is what I’ve been telling you though. He totally has a squip.”

“He doesn’t-”

“He does.” Moses said simply.

It was, admittedly, just an educated guess. They were too far away to pick up on any signal of New Jersey squips.

But such changes were too remarkable to be coincidence.

Especially the Brooke connection. She was a perfect, popular stepping stone to-

Moses shook his head. He didn’t want to think like that. He didn’t want to conceptualize future outcomes or calculate data to figure out the most favorable outcome. He just wanted to float in the swimming pool with his boyfriend and smile in amusement at the mundane sweetness of him gossiping with his best friend.

“Ah-ha! See? See??? I told you, dude.” Jake fell silent. “You think they’re fucking?”

“Brooke and Jeremy?”

“Jeremy and his Squip.”

“Dude, how would I fucking know?” Rich’s eyes were wide, stunned, his mind blown at the possibility. Moses stroked his stomach playfully, grazing over his belly button just to hear his voice hitch. Rich squirmed against him.

“You’re my expert on robot overlords.”

Moses’ chest dropped and his hand stilled.

“I mean, I like science fiction. Oh man, speaking of which, you ever notice-”

“You’re boning a robot.”

“Where?” Rich sounded genuinely confused. “I’m not fucking a robot. I fucking wish, dude! My resistance would be futile and motherfucking moist-”

“You know what I’m talking about, Rich. Your squip-”

“Moses is just a regular dude though. Like, besides, he’s transitioned or whatever.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Um. Like, he’s not a robot or whatever.”

“Anymore?”

“Ever. I dunno, this is sorta cutting edge, new, can’t look it up on the internet shit. But...shit.”

“Huh. Okay, dude. Cool.”

Rich wrung his hands together nervously, his eyes wide as he looked at Moses. “Sorry. I sorta outed-”

Moses sat up just enough to kiss Rich’s cheek. “It’s okay.”

There was a pause, unsteady glances quickly smoothing the more he saw that Moses wasn’t angry. 

“But anyway. Dude. _Dude_. The Jeremy thing!” Jake said excitedly.

“I...I mean, I dunno. It’s like, a total cult of Jeremy Heere. It’s bizarro, that’s all.”

“A cult?”

“Sort of.”

“Wait, you can’t just drop the ‘cult’ bomb and not expand. Like, full on Jim Jones flavoraid shit?”

Once again, there was a pause. Moses couldn’t help but think how much easier conversations would be if humans were generally instilled with pop culture and historical reference analysis sensors.

It occurred to him that his own hadn’t been firing off like they had before. Strange. Exciting. He’d have to ask Bernice about that later.

“I don’t know what flavoraid is.”

“That’s what Jimmy boy used.”

“Who’s Jimmy boy?”

“Jim Jones.”

“I thought it was ‘don’t drink the koolaid’.”

“Common misconception,” Moses said.

“Yeah.” Rich grinned. “What he said. Dude, we watched this whole documentary about Jim Jones. It was literally killer, dude. Fucked up. Actually, really fucking depressing. But uh. Yeah. Cult. Like, Scientology or something?”

“No.” The sound of Jake frowning resonated even through the phone. “It’s more like...I don’t know. People are just really captivated by him. Like people were literally getting his autograph at the play.”

“That’s just goof troop bonkers. It’s a school play. What the fuck?”

“I’m telling you. He’s been at every party. Even my Halloween party. And let me tell you, _that_ was a fucking disaster.”

“Did everybody get AIDS and shit?”

“I...is that...was that a _Showgirls_ reference?”

Rich clapped his hands together giddily. “Yeah! We watched that after the Jonestown movie.”

“...dude, you guys need to get some better movies.”

“It doesn’t matter!” Moses began to pet Rich’s hair, and he watched in satisfaction as Rich closed his eyes, focusing on the gentle feeling of contact, though his energy began to blast through soon as he continued speaking. “This cult thing really has my nuts in a twist.”

“Chloe’s obsessed with him.”

“Chloe’s a scumbag.”

“That’s what I’m saying. Even _she_ is interested in him.”

“Yeah, but she always wants to fuck over Brooke’s parade, right? Look, man, I think you’re overstating the-”

“I think he’s a psychic, dude. He wore an Eminem shirt...and then Eminem died.”

“That’s just Squip predictive technology,” Moses shouldn’t have butt in but he couldn’t help but point out the obviousness. “And Jeremy’s not the head of a cult. He’s just being harnessed as a beacon for...I don’t know what. I don’t know his squip. But it’s some higher cause-”

“Like a cult.” Both Jake and Rich chirped.

Moses paused. Then, shrugging, he conceded the point. “A little like a cult.”

“Man. That’s so fucking dank though. Why do I miss all the good stuff?”

Why was Rich missing all of these happenings?

And then Moses really became aware of the fact that all his visions of fire and destruction were gone. He focused on the future, on any pathway they might look down.

And everything came back clear. Hopeful.

...they’d beaten it. They’d really beaten it! Through no power of his own, they’d somehow made it across the threshold. They were going to be okay! Everything was going to be okay!

His arms wrapped around Rich, but the momentum tipped them. They splashed in the water, Rich bobbing back up to the surface effortlessly.

Moses’ own body sank, lower and lower, until his body bounced against the bottom of the pool. He heard wobbly voices from above the surface, as he stared up at the hazy glow, the way the sun streamed through and distributed through the water. He watched as Rich’s body squirmed and kicked at the water. And then he looked at his hands. His own hands. Hazy and wavy in the water.

His body ached uncomfortably as water filled his nose and his mouth. He knew his breathing was an artificial act, so certainly he wouldn’t drown.

Water continued to pour inside him, as Rich dove through the surface. He watched as his form became clearer, his small arms looping under Moses’.

He tried to lift him, but his own buoyant body seemed incapable of moving Moses’ frame.

That was right. He wasn’t really human after all, was he? Of course he wouldn’t float. How foolish. Who had he thought he was?

He needed to push Rich away, but his own body moved slowly, one arm clumsily swatting at Rich. He couldn’t let him destroy himself trying to tear him towards the surface.

Rich scowled, a very distinct expression even under water. His hair shimmered about in the water, as he sank down, toes gripping the ground. He squatted down, then abruptly pushed off.

And somehow, he pried Moses from the bottom of the pool. He bobbed upward, Moses’ head briefly resurfacing, only to start sinking again.

Rich grasped onto him, struggling but managing to drag him to the shallow end. He set Moses on the steps, panting heavily as he rested his forehead against Moses’.

“Shit, dude. That was close.”

Moses sparked, crackling and popping. His body ached in ways separate from any of the other experiences of pain. Water poured excessively from his nose, his lips, tinged with dirty oil and fluids that he didn’t want to think about identifying. Inhuman lubrication that kept his system running.

All undone by submerging too rapidly. Another jolt of electricity pierced through him, as he leaned back against the steps. 

“Fuck!” Rich shrieked. He hopped to his feet, grabbing Moses under his arms and dragging him completely out of the pool. He turned him onto his side, as Moses gagged, vomiting up more water.

How vile.

His eyes stung, and he realized some of the water leaving him was surely tears. Desperate and shimmering.

Rich grabbed a towel, far too small, as he rubbed it over Moses. “It’s okay. You’re going to be okay. You-”

His body spasmed, and a shock of electricity pierced through Rich. 

The sound cracked through the air, as it absorbed into the grounded source that was his host’s body. Rich jerked backwards, eyes wide and stunned and confused, a yelp of pain leaving him.

Moses tried to open his mouth, to say anything, to do anything, but Rich’s body fell backwards, swallowed into the depths of the pool.

Moses’ own world went black as he heard Rich thud against the bottom of the pool.


	28. Chapter 28

"That was a close one."

Moses opened his eyes, as Rich's dripping body hovered above him. Rich smiled softly, as he stroked Moses' cheek. 

"I hurt you," Mo whimpered. "Are you okay?"

"Of course I'm o-"

Rich's face began to sag. The flesh began to disintegrate from his bones, sizzling as it slapped against the tiles of the patio. Moses watched in horror as his eyes melted, as his teeth popped out one by one.

He expected the ivory of bone, as his muscles twisted into ribbons and floated away.

Instead, beneath his skin and muscle, lay cold metal. His body whirred and clicked, empty eye sockets scanning over him as he laughed coldly.

"See, Mo? Now I'm just like you."

His body jolted, and he sat up, the visions drifting into nothingness as his eyes snapped open. His body felt lethargic and weighed down, and it took him a moment to assess where he lay.

"Rough dreams?" Bernice clicked a pen, scribbling notes onto a clipboard.

Moses stared at her. It didn't make sense. He'd been at the house. They'd been at the pool. Jake had been on the phone, and they'd been floating effortlessly. This didn't make any sense. 

"Why am I here?"

"That boy--Jacob, I think?--he called 911. We have our connections and pieced together your whereabouts." She scribbled a few more notes.

Today she wore fishnet tights underneath denim shorts, a crop top that showed the soft swell of her stomach. Opera gloves twisted up her arms.

He couldn't even bring himself to admonish her sense of style. He sucked in a breath, only to cough, water gushing from his lips.

"Yeah," She winced sympathetically. "We tried to drain it all from you, but there's still residual moisture in you. Don't worry, we'll get it all out before you go home."

"Home?" Words seemed to twist uneasily around him. He tried to reach out and grasp them, to shove them back into his mind, his sense of comprehension.

"Home!" He repeated abruptly. He swiveled his feet off the metal examination table, slamming them to the ground as he rose to his feet.

Nausea gripped at him. He grasped at his stomach, doubling over in pain and sickness, as he vomited. It was all water, splashing noisily against the clinical lab flooring.

Bernice clicked her tongue over her teeth. "You realize I have to clean that, right?"

"Sorry," He whimpered. The water on his lips was cooler than the tears which began to spill from his eyes. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

"Hey. Hey! It's okay." She moved over to him, grasping his arm and guiding him back to the table. Moses curled up on his side, holding her hand for security as he tried to process everything that had happened.

They'd been at the pool. They'd been speaking to Jake. Jake had called 911. Why had Jake called 911?

Why was he full of water?

"Your memory might still be catching up." Bernice seemed to understand the confusion, or at least sympathize with it. Her free hand pet through his tangled hair, dried and crunchy with chlorine. "It's okay though. The damage to your body is minimal. We'll have you dried out and back on your massive clodhoppers in no time."

"Clod...what?" He hiccuped, drying his eyes with the hand that wasn't clutching Bernice's.

"Feet. Your feet. The massive boats connected to your ankles."

"Oh. Right." He glanced down at his feet. Were they really so big? He curled his toes.

Rich had said they were cute, though. He'd said he had cute toes.

"Richard!" Moses gasped, sitting up once again. His head spun, and Bernice pressed against his shoulder until he lay on his side once again. "Richard. Richard! Where's Richard??"

She was quiet. 

They'd fallen in. He'd sunk to the floor. It had been so peaceful. But Rich had pried him up. Pulled him out of the water. Soothed him and comforted him and Moses remembered pain. A jolting, electrical pain, through his every circuit.

And he'd...

He'd...

"I hurt him." Moses whimpered. Once again he tried to sit up.

"I'll restrain you if you keep trying to move. I'm not cleaning up anymore vomit than I need to."

"Bernice. I...I hurt him. I hurt him terribly. I...he fell into the pool after and I...I shocked him, I could have killed..." He trailed off and clapped his other hand over his mouth. He needed to contain those words. He couldn't speak them. They couldn't be true. He would never. He could never. He-

"Rich isn't dead."

It should have been a comforting thought. But why had she phrased it like that? Shouldn't she have said that Rich was alive?

He found solace in it all the same, at least for a brief moment. "He's alive?"

"Of course. We wouldn't have just left him in the pool."

Moses thought of it. The sound of his body hitting the bottom of the shallow end of the pool. The sound had been muffled by water, but obscenely loud all the same, and Moses released her hands, clapping his hands over his ears. The crack of electricity, the slip of his feet, the wide eyed, lost look on his face. He couldn't wash any of it away. He couldn't forget any of it.

He felt more tears pour down his cheeks, as he shook his head anxiously. "No, no, I hurt him, I hurt him. Richard. Richard!" He cried out for him again.

She sighed, placing a hand against his forearm. She carefully guided his hands away from his ears, clapping her hands softly over his cheeks. Cradling his cheeks, she looked at him intently.

"I told you. He isn't dead."

"He's hurt."

She hesitated. "He has some scarring, and had a concussion, but nothing is broken."

Once again, the words should have been comforting. But why had she stalled to say it?

"What kind of scarring?" He finally asked. The concussion seemed a minor point compared to the way she'd spoken the words for the first section. He'd scarred him. How badly had he done so?

She drew her hand away from him, playing with the edges of one of her gloves. "Well..."

"Ah good, he's awake." Dr. Miller's shoes clicked over the ground, as he stepped nearer. "Now we can begin the fuller healing proc-"

His heel caught against the mess of watery vomit Moses had left on the floor. His legs kicked out from underneath him, splaying as he clattered backwards, slamming his entire body hard against the floor.

Bernice offered one of her rare smiles as she stared down at the ground. "I love slapstick," She said calmly. 

Moses winced sympathetically. Guilty. Another human injured by his robotic inadequacies.

Dr. Miller sat up, rubbing the back of his head, and laughing softly. "I see your gag reflex must be working sufficiently. That's good. Then the damage must be minimal."

"I need to see Richard, now."

He didn't mean to be so commanding, and certainly under normal circumstances he would have apologized for being so bold and upset.

But he couldn't just sit here while Rich was...god, where was Rich? Was he in the lab? Was he in the hospital? Was he back home? Was he completely alone, and terrified, and thinking about the fact that Moses, the one who was meant to protect and love him, had hurt him?

"I need to see him. Please..."

"He's just inside the house."

Moses thought of the grime. Of the shirtless man who roamed about, drinking beer and watching Ancient Aliens on a constant loop. His hands tinged with dirt and Cheeto dust and he was alone, unsupervised, near his host.

"No!" Moses scrambled upwards again. "No, no, he needs to be with me. I need to protect him. He needs to be with me!"

Bernice reached out to grab him, but he shoved her aside. She heard her body clatter beside the doctor, but he ignored it. Still in his swim trunks, and a flimsy hospital gown, he bolted towards the exit.

"I didn't want to have to do this."

He heard the click of a remote, and his body dropped. His arms continued to flail, but his legs refused to cooperate. His head turned, regarding the doctor with wide, surprised eyes.

"I'm keyed into your body's functions," Dr. Miller said, holding the remote. "If I need to deactivate certain features, or reactivate them, I have the capacity."

Moses' chest clenched.

Bernice glowered at the doctor. "You said you'd gotten rid of that."

"This is a special case. I don't need my greatest work to injure itself."

The casual disregard for his feelings, for any sense of humanity, clattered away at Moses' dwindling self esteem. But he hadn't time to worry about that. HIs hands pressed against the ground, as he tried to drag himself to the exit.

His arms gave out next, and he lay helplessly on his stomach. His breathing was panting and frightened.

Dr. Miller pulled himself from the ground, approaching the prone android (because that was what he was. Not human. Never human). He clutched the remote, smiling almost empathetically as he looked down at Moses.

"I'm not doing this to punish you, Moses. I just don't want you to hurt yourself."

It certainly seemed like a malicious action. Moses panted softly for breath, only to realize as the pain continued to radiate that he didn't need to catch his breath. He'd never needed his breath. His eyes stung and he allowed oxygen to stop cycling through his useless body.

"Relax. Rich is just fine. He's resting right now. I'll allow you to see him as soon as we clean you up. Alright?"

Moses wanted to argue. His eyes drifted to the remote. "Will you allow me use of my limbs if I say yes?"

"Only if you promise not to run."

"I...yes. Okay. Fine. I won't run."

"That's a good boy," Dr. Miller said, patronizing and powerful. He pressed another lever on the remote and Moses pulled his limbs inward. He lay in a fetal position on the ground, and focused on the sensation of pseudo life within his aching body.

He was so close to being something worth existing.

So close.

But what use was he if he couldn't float or if he couldn't control his electrical sources. 

He'd hurt Rich. How could he ever forgive himself for that?

"Pick him up and take him into the tank, Bernice. We need to dry him out."

Bernice was devoid of any comebacks as she approached Moses. She leaned down, grasping his hands and pulling him upward. Her expression was unreadable, eyes averted.

"Make sure to remove all of his panels."

"Right."

"Panels?" Moses echoed. 

She offered another smile. Why was she smiling? Nothing funny had been said. It took him longer than he was proud to admit to realize it was a look of utmost pity.

"It'll be okay, big guy."

"Can I see Rich after?"

"Of course."

"Then do what needs to be done."

He didn't care though. He didn't care about his own pain or the damage that may have been caused to his body. He'd brought this upon himself, after all.

She took him to a large column. It took him a moment to see the door, to realize he was expected to enter. Without waiting for his command, he approached the open door. It didn't matter what its use was; the quicker he allowed them to use it on him, the quicker he could go see Rich.

She grasped his wrist, pulling him back. She had a screwdriver in her other hand, as she sighed softly. "I'm going to need you to take off your clothes, Moses."

He didn't question it, though he did blush as he shed the gown, then his swim trunks. It was almost a relief to shed the damp material, but his hands moved down to cover himself modestly.

She didn't seem particularly interested in that element of his anatomy, though, as she circled around him. Her screwdriver abruptly stabbed into his back.

"Ah!"

"I know, I know. I'm sorry." She wriggled it, and the pain left him squirming, gasping. Why did it hurt so badly? 

"Why are you doing this to me?" A scared little sob tore from his lips.

Moses was ashamed of himself. If she wanted to destroy him, so be it. But what if they didn't care for Richard properly? How could he protect him if-

"Please stop struggling, Moses."

He hadn't realized he was writhing as much as he was. Obedient and afraid of causing inconvenience, he indeed allowed his body to still.

She pried his back open, and he heard crackles and sparks of electricity. What had she done to him?

He was about to see, as she moved around to the front of him. She moved his arms to his sides, and then began softly tapping at his chest with the back of her hand. He wasn't sure what she was listening for, but she seemed to find it, smiling grimly before slamming the screwdriver into his flesh once again.

He whimpered but quietly allowed the violation. She slid the screwdriver in a square, splitting his skin effortlessly. She set the screwdriver down, then worked her fingers into the slit she'd made of his flesh. She pried him open, and he watched as the panel swung open to reveal wires and sparks of electrical damage.

Moses gasped, staring in horrified fascination at the internal workings of his body. 

"...I'm sorry, but I need you to stoop down."

He looked back up, blinking as he tried to comprehend. Why was she tearing him apart? Were they tired of allowing his existence?

The pain radiated, but he stooped down. She stabbed into his forehead, and he felt her opened up a smaller panel here. Water spilled from it, trickling down the slope of his nose.

"We're just drying you out, Moses. Okay? I'll close you back up afterwards."

"It hurts," He whispered, ashamed. Ashamed of his pain, and ashamed of the exposure of his lack of humanity.

"I know, sweetie." She rubbed his arm. "I know. But we'll be quick, okay? Get into the chamber."

It felt like hours, as hot air pulsed over him. His external body felt fried, and his insides sparked and crackled continuously. He felt the jolts shock himself, and cried shamefully, though the tears evaporated before they could truly collect on his cheeks. Was this how Rich had felt? Coupled with confusion that the one who'd loved him was causing him so much trauma and pain?

Finally, she shut the machine off, pulling his dazed body from the cylinder. He barely comprehended as she closed him up again, fusing panels shut once more. He couldn't even see where he'd been opened up before, and ran his hand over his chest to ensure he was no longer exposed as he had been.

"I know. It's unpleasant."

"I'm just a robot," He said numbly.

"You're so much more than that. You're..." She trailed off. "Anything I say is going to make you feel worse. Come on, you should sit down."

"No." Moses felt the need to rest, but refused to succumb. His own discomfort didn't matter. It had never mattered. He wasn't human and he wasn't alive and it didn't matter. It had never mattered. The only thing that had ever mattered was Rich. And Rich was alone, and hurt, and he was the one who'd hurt him, and he had to find him. He had to help him. He had to do his job. 

"Moses-"

"I need Rich."

"You've been through-"

"I don't care!" He snapped. "I don't care what happens to me. Don't you fucking get it? I don't matter."

Bernice stared at him, a stunned silence wrapping around both of them.

And then he was sobbing again, wobbling as he sank down to his knees. He clutched his mouth, trying to muffle the shame of his own heartbreak.

"I hurt him," He finally wheezed out as he dropped his hand from his lips. "I hurt him. He'll never forgive-"

"He doesn't blame you. You were injured. It really wasn't that big of a deal. I mean, I hurt Doc all the time. Big deal."

"I don't want to cause him any more pain. He's been through so much." But he couldn't expand on that. He couldn't expose memories that Rich himself wasn't aware of.

"I know you don't. And you won't. I'll take you to him, okay?"

He rose to his feet, shaking as she took his hand, guiding him towards the exit.

"Thank you," He said softly.

"No need to thank me. This is what friends do, right?"

"I think so. You're my only...I mean, Richard is also, but he's my lover...but...I mean, you're my only friend that-"

"-that you're not fucking. I get it." She laughed.

Despite himself, he smiled faintly. "Thank you. For taking care of me."

"Hey, no problem."

"That, um, that remote thing is pretty messed up though."

"Tell me about it. What a psycho." She took him outside, as they headed towards the house. She paused before they went outside. "It...it looks worse than it actually is," She said.

Moses' chest clenched in panic. But he didn't have time to analyze it before she was opening the door.


	29. Chapter 29

Moses felt the floorboards creak under his feet. He glanced down, suddenly hyperaware of his bare feet. He'd been given a makeshift outfit after being dried, but it was ill-fitting, ugly, and he needed a brush for the wild mess of his hair.

It didn't matter though. Nothing mattered right now.

He wished he had a heart, to feel it pulsing in panic. And then he felt guilty, for longing for anything. He'd already gotten so much.

And as a result of getting everything he wanted, Rich had been hurt. He felt another painful clenching of his body, and grasped at his shirt as though to calm it. In all honesty, he wasn't even sure where the pain came from, just that it was intense and pulsing and he had the distinct urge to sink to his knees.

He, of course, did no such thing. There was no time for that now.

"He's down the hall," Bernice pointed. Her hand pressed against his shoulder. "He may be asleep, but-"

Moses abruptly pulled away, heading down the hall, piles of trash, and dogs rustling through them, briefly catching his attention, his derision. He ran a hand through his hair, grimacing at the knots in it. Maybe it did matter just a little bit. But he could worry about it fully later.

His hand grasped the doorknob, cold against his touch. The door stuck as he twisted the knob, and he had to press his shoulder against it to get it opened.

"The fuck?" The voice was familiar, startled, and he heard the blankets pull up with an anxious tug.

Rich's arms relaxed as he took in Moses' form. "Oh. It's you. Hi, babe!"

Moses froze in the doorframe. The ends of Rich's hair were darker, smoked and blackened. But that wasn't the detail which made him look.

The electrical scars that danced down his face, his neck, and likely over his body, were an electric blue. They only seemed to occupy the right half of his body, branching like tendrils over him. Even his right eye held the same scarring, splintering from his iris out to the white. 

Moses placed a hand over his mouth, muffling the horrified sob that started to escape him.

Rich's expression dropped. "Mo. Egg Mo-muffin. Babe. What's wrong?"

"You're...you..."

"Oh. You mean my super sick tats?"

It was with those words that both seemed to become aware of Rich's lisp. Moses struggled to try to contain it, but the bond seemed to fizzle and refuse to connect.

"Motherfucker," Rich scowled. He then shrugged indifferently. "That's okay. Don't I look cool as fuck?"

"I-"

"People would pay good money for tats like these, but I got mine for free."

"Does it hurt?" Moses moved forward. Hesitantly, he sat on the edge of Rich's bed. He grasped his hand, only to find the same scarring extending over his hand. It traced and snaked around his veins, diving underneath his fingernails. Moses tried to discreetly wipe them away, but Rich hissed softly.

"Sorry. A little tenderoni, if you know what I mean."

"I think I understand what you mean. Tender plus pepperoni?"

"Bingo-bongo, friendo." Rich sighed, leaning back against the pillows. "And it doesn't really hurt. Just tender, but Bernie says that'll go away."

"How would she know?"

Rich shrugged. "She said it happened pretty often. It's just an electric transfer or something."

"She..she knew I might malfunction and do this?"

"Hey, it's okay, Mo. Really. I look cool."

"You..." He trailed off. Rich bit his lip, looking at him with bright doe eyes, scarred as the one might be.

"You, um, you do think I look cool still, right?"

"You're beautiful, Sunshine. Of course I still think you look cool. I just..." He cupped his left cheek, and smiled as Rich leaned in, nuzzling it. Rich turned his head, kissing each fingertip individually. "I just hate that you've been hurt."

"Dude, I barely remember it. We were talking to Jake, right? And then you were drowning. And then it's sorta a blank slate until we got here. I guess they beat the ambulance to us. I hope we don't still have to pay that ambulance bill though. That shit ain't cool."

"If it comes to that, we'll figure something out. Richard, I...I can't even begin to apologize for this."

Except the apology seemed to also rest with the doctors, if they'd truly known this was a possibility. His expression tightened in anger, as he softly rubbed Rich's forearm.

"Huh. Maybe it's just my hands that are still tender."

"Oh!" Moses started to pull his hand away.

Rich shook his head. "No. Please keep touching me, okay?"

"I...yes. Yes, of course."

"By the way, that outfit is fucking gross. Even to me."

Moses snorted. "I know. It's an absolute disaster."

"Totally lame-o."

"You really seem to be enjoying your 'o's today."

"The best O of all is an orgasm, you know." Rich grinned. "You wanna eat me out?"

Moses blushed. He leaned forward, kissing his forehead. "I would, but you need your rest."

"Yeah right!" Rich pulled the sheets back, revealing his hitched up hospital gown. His underwear were tugged to the side, revealing the hint of his cunt. He reached down, rubbing himself casually. "I've been jacking it, like, all day."

Even his sex held some of the scarring. Moses leaned down, kissing it softly. In a way he hoped was soothing.

But he resisted the urge to tug his clothing off and tongue-fuck him.

"You need rest."

"What? But I'm all horned up now. Let me at least finish."

Moses smirked. "No. Hold off. As soon as I get you out of here, I'll let you cum buckets."

"Oooh. Cum buckets. Isn't that like, a Homestuck reference?"

"I...when did you read Homestuck?"

"Never. I just heard something about cum buckets, you feel me?"

"I think that might be...I don't think that's canon lore, is it? It doesn't sound accurate."

"Hey, if you saw a bucket, wouldn't you want to fill it with cum?"

"If you're a bucket, then yes."

Rich smiled brightly. "That's the kind of can-do attitude I'm talking about. Sir, you are hired. Please fill my love bucket immediately. My honey pot."

It was difficult to resist him. But he had no choice. He pet his hair again, sighing softly. "I have to speak to the doctor first."

"Why?"

"...to see if you're safe to come home," He hesitated too much though and Rich scowled.

"You’re going to yell at them for not telling you this was a possibility, aren't you?"

Moses held up his hands defensively as he stood from the bed. "Not yell. Just politely converse with them about their lack of proper disclosure."

***

Moses totally yelled at them for not telling him this was a possibility.

"Can you please calm down?" Dr. Miller whimpered, as Moses' hand formed into a fist.

He slammed it against one of the examination tables. Dimly, he was aware that it bent under the pressure of his hand. "Calm down? He could have died. He very nearly died. And you think I should just be calm about this?"

"He didn't nearly die--well, if he'd drowned, yes, that could have been the opposite of ideal. But he was fine-"

"Fine? Fine?! Have you seen his scars?"

"Yes. It's fascinating, how they only extend over one half of his body-"

"Oh, it's 'fascinating'. He looks..." Moses trailed off. He couldn't insult Rich, even though- "How is he going to explain what looks like a full body tattoo to potential employers? To college interviewers?"

But maybe it would fade. Maybe this was a temporary setback. He glanced at Bernice this time. "Tell me it fades."

She frowned. "Do you really want me to lie to you?"

So it was permanent. This was Rich's new reality, his new normal. Moses folded his arms over himself, and the guilt chewed through him like a rat in a dumpster. "I don't understand. Why was this bug not ironed out."

"It's not a bug. It's a feature."

The look Dr. Miller shot Bernice was nothing short of loathsome. Moses watched as she shrank back, her eyes shooting to the ground, as the doctor rolled up the sleeves of his lab coat.

"It's not a feature. But it's not something we can fix just yet. But see?" He pointed out the scars on his own skin. "It's normal. Even I have it."

"Is that supposed to make me feel better? At least you can hide yours."

"I wouldn't, if it weren't for my preference for long sleeves. I think it's beautiful. A show of my bond to Bernice. Though it does significantly decrease or cut off any residual telepathic link."

"...hence Rich's lisp."

"Exactly."

Moses ran his fingers through his hair. And sighed at the tangles again. "I just-"

"Sit." Bernice commanded, pulling out a stool. She guided Moses down, and he actually allowed himself to stay down in surprise.

Bernice retrieved a comb from her back pocket, and began slowly working it through Moses' hair. It was comforting, soothing even, and he leaned back into her careful touch.

"I know it doesn't feel like it right now," She worked the comb through his tangles, "But it really is going to be okay."

"How?" Moses hated how petulant he sounded. But it didn't feel alright. It felt like everything was crashing around them. "How am I going to forget that image of him falling? Of hurting him? Every day, I'm going to see that reminder and-"

He stopped himself. She combed the ends of his hair.

"How selfish," He whimpered. "I shouldn't be worrying about how this affects me. It doesn't matter. I don't-"

"You do. You do matter, Moses. Just as much as anyone else."

He snorted. "Sure."

It was rude. An impossibly rude thing to say or do. He hunched his shoulders, glancing back at her apologetically. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean that."

"Yes you did. It's okay. I feel like that too sometimes."

"Really?" He squirmed just a little as she worked out a particularly rough patch of hair.

"Of course." She smiled grimly. "It's the price of being human, isn't it?"

"We're not-"

"Well. You sort of are, anyway. I guess it's just a matter of perspective."

He rubbed a hand over his other arm, and shrugged shoulders that felt too massive. Why did he have to be so large? 

Why did he want a hug so badly?

As if sensing his need, she wrapped her arms around him from behind. Her cheek rested against his shoulder blade, as she enveloped him.

It was nice. Warm. 

Her lips turned towards his ear. "I need to tell you something. It's really important. Everything isn't-"

"Bernice, we need to prepare things for our next appointment." The doctor's voice was cold, sharp, and Bernice pulled back from Moses.

She stared at the doctor, then at Moses. Genuine fear briefly touched on her face, before she shrugged. She held out the comb. "Keep it. I have to go to work."

A small lotus flower, plastic and shiny, decorated the edge of the comb. He brushed his finger against it, glancing up as she walked away, as she and the doctor moved behind one of the few doors.

She peeked her head out though, smiling. "Oh, and you're good to take the masturbater home."

He blushed on behalf of Rich. He resolved not to tell him that they knew. He ran the comb through his hair, as he stood and headed back towards the house.


	30. Chapter 30

“I’m thinking of going back to school.”

They were nearly home by the time Rich landed on the subject. Moses watched as he rocked back and forth on his feet.

“School?”

“Yeah.” Guilt etched over his features. “Unless you think it’s a bad idea.”

“Do you mean Middle Borough?”

Rich shook his head. “God no. But, um. I’ve been researching schools. Local schools. There’s a pretty good one, and it’s only a few blocks away. I could walk.”

“No. I’d drive you.”

Rich grinned. “You don’t have a license yet. But it wouldn’t be a bad idea to get one for you, come to think of it.” He looked thoughtful. “I wouldn’t start until after Christmas though, obviously. That’s plenty of time to get your license.”

That was right. Christmas. It was only a week away. He already had plans with Bernice to go out and buy presents for Rich.

As if on the same wavelength, RIch trembled excitedly. “I already know what I’m getting you and it’s going to be sick!”

“You don’t have to get me anything.”

“Too bad. I am.”

“I suppose I can’t argue with that.”

“You’re right. You can’t.”

“School, though. Are you sure-”

“Positive. But, um. I was thinking. Especially if you get your license. You’ll have some freedom, and some free time…”

Moses didn’t want to admit he was already sad about their potential time apart. It would be selfish to say such a thing. Hell, it was selfish just to think it. “Yes?”

“And, uh. I’ve been looking, and there are some local classes. Cooking classes. Baking, I mean.”

“I can’t--I’m not…” He trailed off. A small frown worked its way onto his face. “I couldn’t…”

“But you could! You so could! I mean, sure, you could learn on your own. But this way, you can get guidance. I mean, having your guidance really helped me.”

Moses grabbed Rich’s hand as they stood outside the front door. Nerves licked at him. “I don’t know.”

Nerves.

And excitement.

“Scaredy cat,” Rich said it lovingly though. “C’mon. You’ll be able to bake me a cake as fast as you can.”

Moses smiled. “And you could eat it just as fast.”

“Damn straight, skippy!”

Moses took a deep breath. “Alright. Yes. Yes, I’ll take some classes.”

“You will?”

“Yes.” He opened the door. Rich skipped inside, swiveling around to take both of Mo’s hands and draw him in. “Assuming I can get my license, anyway.”

“I mean, you taught me how to drive, to be fair. I’m sure you’ll pick it up.”

***

The tester looked shaken, but there was no rule against jerky driving. “You may want to work on your lead foot,” He said. “But you passed.”

So Moses ran back into the bureau. He scooped Rich into his arms, kissing him as he dipped him backwards, before getting in the proper line to get his photo taken.

He could have manipulated his features to look flawless.

But humans often complained about subpar license photos. He provided an appropriate squinting grimace.

“To which Rich cackled. “It looks like a mugshot” He exclaimed.

“I know,” Moses beamed.

***

“What size is he?” Bernice questioned as they went through rack after rack of tank tops.

“Tiny.”

She nodded. “Very miniscule. But I meant his shirt size.”

“Ah. Also tiny. Small.”

“Extra or normal small?”

“Well, he was an extra small, but now that he’s bulked up, he can usually get away with a small. It’s funny, I-”

“You’re infodumping about your boyfriend again.”

Moses blushed. “He’s just so cute.”

“Yes yes, you’re a smitten kitten.” Her doc martens clicked against the ground, a backwards snapback perched over a new, shorter hair cut.

“I like this look on you.”

She smirked. “Because I look like a dyke version of Goranski.”

Complete with a muscle shirt.

Was he really so predictable? Moses blushed even harder as they went back to Christmas shopping.

***

Christmas Eve left the room glittering with twinkling lights they’d spent ages stringing around the entirety of the mansion. They’d just finished making a gingerbread house, and Moses tasted frosting on Rich’s fingers as he sucked them clean one by one.

“Am I your ho-ho-hoe?” Rich said. Then laughed brightly. “Worst joke yet!”

“It’s okay.” He kissed up his wrist, up his arm. “You’re cute. You don’t need to be funny too.” His lips reached his shoulder, and he bit it softly, sucking on the skin.

Rich sighed happily. “But I am funny too. Right?”

Moses traced his tongue over the blue electrical scarring. Up his neck. His chin. Until they were kissing, slow, sensual. Rich’s hand tangled into his hair, pulling their nude bodies flush together.

“You’re funny.”

“Yeah?”

“Very much so, yes.” He pecked his lips. “Funny.” Kiss. “Smart.” Kiss. “Empathetic.” Kiss. “Handsome.” Kiss. “Brave.”

“And I taste good?”

He sucked on Rich’s bottom lip, pulling back with a wet smack. “Delicious.”

Rich smiled, shyly turning his head against the pillow. “Thank you,” He murmured happily.

Mo guided his face back towards him. “No. Look at me. I want you to see as I make love to you.”

Rich giggled. “Make love. That’s so chees--oh.” He exhaled as Moses rubbed his cock over him, tracing against his clit, then fully splitting between his lips, poised against his entrance. He circled it, just to feel Rich squirm against him.

Rich sighed sweetly as Moses moved into him. “Mo…”

Moses nuzzled his nose against Rich’s. “That’s right. Sing for me.”

Rich batted his eyelashes. He inhaled, then bellowed, off key, “Galileo! Galileo. Galileo figar-”

Mose silenced him with a kiss, even as he laughed against him. “I didn’t mean to unleash your inner Freddie Mercury, you raging bisexual.”

“It’s true. I’m bi and full of rage 99% of the time.” He smiled. “Not right now though.”

“No, that’s right. Right now, you’re full of me.” He glided forward. Rich was so wet and so tight and the Christmas lights made even his scarring glitter beautifully.

“Are we going to be together forever?” Rich gasped, arching into Moses’ thrusts. The question wrapped around them like a thread, fate binding them eternally.

“Forever and ever,” Mo insisted. He collected his body into his arms, doubling over him as he slowly fucked his warm, willing body.

***

“You think I can make a snowman out of sand?”

Rich ran around the beach, scooping up a fistful of sand, and flinging it at Mo. It disintegrated mid air before it could make contact.

Moses laughed as he charged at Rich. He grabbed him around his midsection, twirling them around, before flopping backwards. Rich landed atop him, laughing brightly. Mo’s toes tickled as the tide rolled in, licking at his feet.

“I love you so much,” Rich said between casually dusting kisses over his face.

“I love you, too.”

“But like, I really really love you.”

“I really love you to the third power.”

“Ewww. Math.”

Except Rich didn’t mind math. Not when it came to science, anyway.

Moses would be sure not to stifle his potential this time around. He couldn’t wait to see Rich blossom. To come into his own. To make friends and explore his educational potential.

He was already so proud of him. How could he continue to astound him everyday?

“I’m made of math.” He felt uncomfortable as he stated it, a familiar squip programmed phrase. “Am I ‘ewww’?”

“Never. But you’re made of skin now, buddy. And hair.” He grasped Moses’ hair, fluffing it happily. “So much hair!”

Moses shook his head, his hair wriggling about into Rich’s touch. “That sounds a little monstrous. Skin and hair.”

“My fleshy boyfriend. Nice!”

Moses rolled them around, pinning Rich down underneath him. The moonlight sparkled in Rich’s eyes

Rich winked with his electric scarred eye. “You’re so cute.”

“Me?” Mo said in surprise. “I haven’t done anything.”

“Besides be cute.”

They kissed again. Moses pulled back, sticking out his tongue in confusion. Granules of sand clung to his lips and his tongue alike.

Rich dusted some of the sand from Mo’s chest. “It gets everywhere.” He waggled his eyebrows. “And I do mean everywhere.”

Moses snorted. “You mean the-”

“B-hole, baby!” Rich bounced slightly underneath him. “You say it now.”

Moses blushed. “B-hole.” He paused. “Baby.”

It was worth it for the laughter it earned.

“That’s right.”

“I’ll make sure to clench to avoid that.”

“Don’t clench too hard or you might fuse it together. Don’t forget, you said I can top you for Christmas.”

Moses tilted his head. “I did?”

“You did.”

“I don’t remember that.”

“Don’t you?”

“I do not.”

“That’s strange. I remember you saying you’d put mistletoe on your tailbone so I could eat your ass.”

“Mistletoe is for kiss-” Ah.

Rich wanted to top him.

He took in the bright grin. And laughed softly, kissing his nose.

“Now I remember.”

“You do?” Rich said, voice tiny and hopeful.

How could he ever deny him?

After all, t’was the season.

T’was. Such a silly, archaic word.

“I do. And perhaps I remember saying you could tie me up.”

“Yeah! Yeah, you DID say that.”

“And something about you sitting on my face?”

“That’s for dessert. The closing act.”

The water rose higher, wetting Moses’ pants legs. He picked Rich up, carrying him to a safer spot under the boardwalk. Slots in the wood allowed starlight to break through. Mo lay on his back, and Rich draped over him, circling his finger over his chest.

“I love you so much.”

“I love you too, Sunshine.”

Rich nestled against him, and though he had a completely artificial pulse, always steadily the same beat, Moses swore he felt something flutter happily within him.

“Forever and ever, right?”

“Infinitely.”

“No matter what? No matter what happens?”

“There’s nothing that could happen to make me stop.”

“Good.” Rich’s eyes began to close. “And, like, same.”

Moses chuckled softly, kissing the top of his head. Perhaps they should have gone inside. But it was such a lovely night. And it was Christmas eve.

Why break the beauty of this moment?


	31. Chapter 31

There were few things more human than a nightmare.

So it was no surprise that Moses’ initial response was excitement as his subconscious wreaked havoc upon his sleep cycle.

He hadn’t even known he had a subconscious to throw dreams his way.

Of course, he’d had those hallucinations during his procedure. But he’d assumed that had been an effect of anesthesia.

This felt so visceral, so gruesome, so torturously awful.

Within his dream, he stepped against the beach, moving against his will into the very ocean itself.

His body sank through the wet sand, as the tide sucked him out to sea. He floundered, as the water flooded into his eyes, his nose, his mouth. It seemed to solidify once it was inside him. Sharp, hard, piercing, leaving him as though he were suspended by wires, by needles. He tried to scream, but the pulsation of thick water only stretched his jaw further and further apart.

Until it snapped.

And then he was in the dark. Pitch black nothing. It crushed around him, folding him into a tiny mass of pulverized flesh and bone.

He’d never felt so tiny.

So vulnerable.

So scared.

“Moses…” The voice echoed, as though from within himself. Both within and outside and only then did Moses realize these feelings, this smallness, this terror, they didn’t belong to him They weren’t his own.

It had been so long since he’d been keyed into Rich’s thoughts directly that he’d nearly forgotten how it felt.

He tried to speak, but his voice stayed trapped in his throat. He tried to move, but his body remained folded, helpless, nearly translucent in its non-existence.

“Moses, wake up.” A small sob ripped from the voice.

Rich.

Someone was hurting Rich.

But Moses couldn’t move. Couldn’t move. Couldn’t scream. Couldn’t see.

But he could feel. A deep, vibrating terror, as frequent, as consistent, as the tide.

“Moses, _please_! Please wake up!”

He couldn’t. He couldn’t even struggle.

“No, no, please, _please_! It hurts, it hurts!”

The fear was palpable. Moses needed to scream.

It was like those stories Rich liked to read.

A horror he’d never properly appreciated.

“Moses!”

He continued to sob for him. Moses couldn’t even tremble. Couldn’t cover his ears. Couldn’t extend a dose of calming hormones to placate Rich’s fear.

Or his pain.

Agony exploded from within Moses’ body. 

“Oh god. Oh GOD!” Please, _please_! PLEASE! Save me, PLEASE, help me, Moses! Please help me! Moses!”

The pain stretched outward. He could taste smoke. His body smoldered, except it wasn’t his torment that he felt.

“They’re killing me.” This time, Rich’s voice was a whimper, instead of a scream.

No.

No no no NO!

Moses ached in his helplessness. His darkness burst into terrified color.

A million memories, locked away, releasing in a rush all at once. A loving mother. A casket. A brother’s cruel touch. A father’s alcoholic abuse. The mockery of peers. The apathy of teachers. The gymnast bars. The feeling of complete invisibility.

Moses.

His apparition. His guidance. How to walk. How to talk. Choosing a name. Choosing a style.

Choosing an identity.

The intensity of love burned through every asset of pain and fear. Pure. Innocent. And absolute.

Infinite.

“I don’t want to die.”

Rich’s voice flooded with terror and devastation, as the memories began to blacket.

And then, sudden, gripping silence.

***

Moses didn’t jolt awake.

It was more of a trickling sensation. Warmth, in his legs. His arms. A sense of heat traveling up through his body, his neck, his head.

His eyes.

And then they opened.

Rich had been asleep on his chest. But Moses’ body was alone. Cold.

He checked his internal clock.

3:37 AM.

It was Christmas.

It was an irrelevant thought. But it pierced through him.

It was Christmas.

And Rich was gone.

…he was gone.

He trembled, wrapping his arms around himself. Gone. He was-

He had to be around here. Moses rose to his shaking legs. He couldn’t have gone far. Rich was just trying to make snow angels in the sand. Trying to catch a fish with his bare hands. Collecting sea shells. He was fine. He was absolutely fine. And Moses would tell him his nightmare and they’d giggle together. It’d be a nice laugh. They’d go back to the house and sleep for a few more hours before Rich inevitably woke up in excitement for hot cocoa and presents.

The smell was that of summer barbecues and burnt oil on asphalt.

It was the same smell Rich remembered from finding his mother’s body.

Mo hadn’t realized how accurate scent memory could be. Especially memories that had never been his own. 

And then he heard the groan.

A dying animal. A whisper of spirits through a suicide forest.

A prayer of his name.

“Mo…”

Moses’ feet sank in the sand, slowing his run. He tripped, his knees bracing against the ground, and he’d scramble upright again, only to fall once more. He struggled past his own entropy until he saw the tendrils of smoke swirling through the air.

He needed to scream. Why couldn’t he scream?

He was stuck.

Still stuck.

Maybe it was still a dream. Just a dream. Just an awful, terrifying nightmare, and how had he ever once thought this was a novel concept?

He walked gingerly. The fire had snuffed itself out, and the tide flooded in to lick at the prone figure’s form.

He recognized him by the red streak in his otherwise charred hair. His eyes traveled down from there.

The burning was extensive. Violently red flesh that seemed to melt from his body. Disturbingly black rot etched into his fingertips, his cheeks, his legs. What little clothing that hadn’t burned up seemed fused to his flesh.

The smell was nearly enough to make Moses retch. He held it back, dropping to his knees.

Rich raised a hand, trembling, a raspy breath shaken from his throat. “Mo?” Grains of sand hugged aggressively to his molten skin.

His eyes opened, milky, unfocused, unseeing.

Moses took his hand, only for Rich to cry out in pain. His tears streaked through the ash on his cheeks.

Moses released his hand, choked sounds escaping his lips. No. No, he couldn’t cry. Not right now. That would scare him. 

“I’m here,” He finally got out. “I’m right here.”

“I thought...I thought I wouldn’t see you ag…” He coughed, lips tearing and trickling blood.

“Shh. Shh, Richard. It’s ok-”

“Sunshine,” Rich whispered. “You always call me sun…”

His words tapered off, as his eyelids descended.

No.

No, he couldn’t-

It was Christmas. It was Christmas and Rich was going to go back to school and they were going to exchange presents and Rich was so excited about eggnog and cookies for breakfast and he loved him so much he loved him so MUCH-

Moses swept him into his arms. Rich weighed nothing at all. So light, he thought he might float away, but his skin stuck so painfully that he dared not cling too much.

Tears blinded his eyes as his feet carried him down familiar pathways. He stumbled, but couldn’t afford to fall.

Everything he heard was white noise. Agonized sobs hiccupped from his lips, agonized, tortured, but he couldn’t hear himself.

He kicked at the door until Edgar opened it. He saw his lips shape into a question, but he couldn’t hear him.

Moses shoved past him. Through the filth. Through the swinging screen door.

Bernice intercepted him. Like Edgar, her lips moved, but he couldn’t hear her.

“Save him!”

Sobs wracked his body. His arms tensed, as Bernice silently directed him into the lab. Moses laid Rich down on the table. 

Dr. Miller stepped into the room, snapping his gloves on.

Moses’ fingers gripped the edge of the table, only for Bernice to grab his shoulder. Her lips moved again, but he couldn’t hear her.

Until she started pulling him from the room. Like a wind tunnel, pressure bore down on his ears. Her voice carried ethereally through it.

“You need to calm down, Moses. I need you to calm down.”

He heard her words, but they meant nothing. Moses trembled, as she placed her hands on his shoulders.

“I need you to go into the house. Okay? You need to wait inside.”

Those words finally settled, uncomfortable, in his ears. He shook his head quickly. “No. No, I need...I need to be with him. I need to be there, when he wakes up. He has to wake up. I need to-”

“Rich is doing really bad,” She said bluntly. “He’s in bad shape. We need to stabilize him. Okay?”

“Okay.”

“And you need to stay in the house. Can you do that for me?”

“I-”

“We’re going to do everything we can to save him. Okay? I...I’m going to do everything I can to save him.”

Moses rubbed his eyes on the back of his hand. It smelled of burnt rubber and roast pork and the barest hints of Rich’s cologne.

Fresh tears filled his eyes. “Please-”

“Come on, sweetie. Come on.” She lead him back into the filth and squalor of the house. She waved three of the dogs from the couch, then set Moses down on it. He curled his legs up to his chest, head against a filthy throw pillow, as she draped a blanket over him.

“Just go to sleep, Moses. Okay?” She stroked his hair, a faraway, foggy look on her face. “It’ll all be over soon.”

It was only as his eyes began to close despite himself that he thought to wonder why they’d already been ready in the lab at 4:00 AM Christmas day.


	32. Chapter 32

“You need to wake up.”

The words left a layer of cold sweat on Moses’ body. He jolted upright, eyes wide, petrified. He had to wake up. If he woke up quickly enough, he could stop this. He could save him before _they_ hurt him, whoever _they_ were.

“Moses.”

Moses looked around, his eyes finally landing on Bernice.

On her gloves. Red, deeply soaked in-

“Sunshine,” Moses sobbed. His sunshine. He didn’t have to hear her say it, even as she fumbled to remove her gloves.

“We did everything we could.”

“Let me see him.”

“Mo-”

“I should have been there. Let me see him. Please. I can’t...please! I can’t leave him alone. He’s afraid of being alone.”

His mom had left him alone. 

Everyone had always treated him as a non-entity. Invisible. Like he’d never mattered, like he’d never existed at all.

And Moses had left him alone.

“Please, I need to see him!”

“Moses, he’s not...you don’t want to see him like this.”

But he shoved past her. Once again, he threw open the door, striding anxiously to the lab.

Dr. Miller looked startled as Moses entered. Bloody utensils sat on a surgical cart.

He tried not to think about it.

He tried not to think at all.

The shape on the table was small, a sheet modestly draped over its form. Moses pressed his hand over his mouth, as his shaky legs stepped closer.

The doctor moved to stand between him and the body. “Moses-”

“I don’t want to hurt you,” Moses said softly. “Please get out of my way.”

“You don’t-”

“I know what I want. Get out of my way. Please.”

Hesitantly, the doctor stepped aside.

Moses stepped to the sheet. He could make out the outline of his nose through it. The way the sheet curved over his chest. Moses’ lip quivered as he thought of how ashamed Rich would feel, to know this was how he was presented now.

He took a shaky breath “Hi, Sunshine. It’s me.” He grasped the sheet and carefully pulled it down.

Rich’s hair was falling out in clumps. His skin was waxy, red, taut, and his eyes were open, scarred, unseeing.

He looked so scared.

Moses slipped the sheet lower, taking Rich’s hand. He didn’t have to worry about hurting him now. He didn’t have to worry about hurting him ever again. It was still warm. Was that from the fire or his last moments of life?

“I don’t know if I can do this without you,” He cradled his palm against his cheek. His fingertips felt cracked, charred. Moses’ tears fell, wetting his wrist. “Please. Please wake up.”

He waited as though he’d hear his voice. As though Rich would kick his legs over the edge, peel away his burns and damage, and grin. “Surprise,” He’d say. “April fools!”

“It’s Christmas,” Moses would counter.

“Christmas fools then!” And then he’d wrap his arms around Moses’ neck, and they’d kiss, and they’d go back home, and Rich would coo excitedly over his presents, and Moses could pretend like he hadn’t predicted this from the beginning, that he hadn’t seen this coming, that he was the one who’d been meant to prevent this, that he was the one who’d let this happen.

It just didn't make sense.

Who would do this? Who would swoop in, and take everything?

Worse yet, how had Moses let this happen? He kissed each of Rich's charred fingertips, and his chest ached with how much he needed to sob.

The table creaked as he climbed up onto its metallic surface. He carefully pulled Rich into his arms, keeping the sheet around him for a sense of modesty that he no longer required. His hand pressed against the back of Rich's head, feeling as more of his hair fell away. How much Rich had loved caring for his hair, bleaching it and cutting it and dyeing it.

"I feel like such a pretty boy," Rich had gleefully admitted once. "Does that make me a fraud?"

"Never," Moses had insisted. 

He'd always worried so much about his authenticity. Even as Moses had stripped that away from him, bit by bit, before they'd finally left town. Before he'd ripped Rich away from everyone and everything he'd ever known.

He'd done this. He'd ruined him. He'd killed him.

He should have known. He should have known this was coming, and prevented it, like all the other times danger had loomed near. He'd avoided every hazard, until he'd gotten so caught up in himself, his own happiness.

And this was the result. This was what happened when Moses let himself try to build a life.

A life. He was a mockery. An absolute affront to the natural order of things.

He buried his face into Rich's hair. And kissed him. He could feel his body begin to grow cooler, and he squeezed him nearer.

"I'm sorry," He whimpered. "I'm so sorry."

He kissed his forehead. Rich smelled like medical supplies and flame and Moses struggled to get a scent of what he'd smelled like before. Boyish and clean and happy. They'd been so happy. Why hadn't Moses realized that such happiness came at a price?

"I was supposed to give you forever. I'm so sorry, Sunshine. I'm so sorry."

The sobs tore through him, sharp, and how he wished to trade him places. He rocked him back and forth. His baby. The only love he'd ever known. The only love he'd ever have. How he'd failed him.

The irony, that Rich had thought it was Moses guiding him. When Moses knew all too well there was no way he could do any of this on his own.

"Moses."

Bernice stepped into the lab. She approached him, placing a hand on his shoulder.

"You have to let him go."

"No." Moses wept.

"You have to...you have to let go of him, okay? You have to."

"No." He wanted to scream at her. But his voice came out weak. Frightened. He shook his head, as he nuzzled against Rich's neck. He just needed to kiss and press hard enough, and maybe he'd find his pulse.

He had to. He had to. He couldn't do this without him. What point was there in a facsimile of living, of humanity, without Rich to share it with?

They pried him from him, the doctor and Bernice alike. Moses' legs wobbled, and Bernice supported him, as the doctor laid Rich flat again, pulling the sheet back over his face.

Moses could hardly stand it. He turned towards Bernice, wrapping his arms around her. She was warm and familiar and alive, and Rich was no longer any of those things. He cried pitifully into her shoulder, as she rubbed his back.

"I'm sorry," And he didn't know if he was telling it to her, or to Rich.

***

Moses didn't remember getting home.

The Christmas lights were still on, the sun already rising into the sky. It was 9:00 in the morning. They would have been up by now, probably already through opening presents.

He stared at the Christmas tree, and tried to remember who'd taken him home.

It was foggy and unfamiliar and he didn't much care to examine it. He glanced down at himself, at the pajamas someone had helped him drape over his perpetually trembling form.

His lips tasted of smoke.

What he did remember was the promise that they'd keep Rich preserved.

Preserved.

Moses' eyes lined with tears again, as he curled up on the couch. He stared at the Christmas tree, at the presents lined up underneath it, and turned around, back facing them as he squeezed his eyes shut.

All he could see were flames.

***

This walk had been so much shorter with Rich. Perhaps he should have taken the car. But the idea of using the car without Rich singing along to the radio, without the enthusiastic bounce of his body because "MY BOYFRIEND GOT HIS LICENSE!" left another lump in his already abused throat.

But he needed to get to the labs. He needed to...

He needed to collect Rich, one final time.

He needed to make arrangements, for his...

He couldn't even think the word. Everything felt dizzy and wrong. He didn't think anything would ever be right again. But he'd be sure to give Rich a proper service. He'd need to contact Jake, of course. And-

-that was all he had, wasn't it? Moses clutched at his own chest, the agony of Rich's solitude fully settling over him. He wouldn't have a father or a mother to mourn him. No siblings to speak solemnly. No one to provide any sort of sensitivity or care beyond a preacher, impersonal, a childhood best friend, and Moses.

The man who'd failed him.

Who'd allowed him to die.

There was the crack in the sidewalk that Rich always hopped over. There was the plastic snowman they'd invented an entire history and backstory for. There stood the tree Rich had started to carve their initials in before the homeowner had chased them away.

How could he ever do this?

He finally reached the house. He stared at it, and realized he was still wearing his pajamas. What did it matter, what facade he gave to the world? Rich would surely find it amusing, the usually prim and put together Moses showing up on the most important day of his life in silk pajamas.

Because there was no mistaking it. This was the most important day of his life. 

Not the happiest. Not the most treasured.

But this was the most significant thing he would ever face.

He turned the handle on the door, expecting the bark of dogs, the growls and angry nips.

He expected the door to catch on the same pile of filth it always hit.

But when he swung the door open, he was greeted with emptiness. 

Moses stood in the doorway. "Hello?" He finally called out, as his eyes scanned the surroundings. No piles of trash. No half-filled bags. No mounds of yellowed newspapers. No radio screeching conspiracy theories past the incessant droning of the rabbit ears TV.

No Edgar. No dogs.

Nothing. Everything scrubbed clean and vacant.

As though there'd never been anything here in the first place.

Moses' stomach dropped out, cold horror as his footsteps echoed. "Hello?" He called out again. "Bernice? Dr. Miller?"

They were in the lab. That was right. They were probably preparing Rich. Keeping him safe. That was the only explanation. And maybe they were selling the home to help fund more of their experiments. There was a logic to this, he just had to dig to it.

He walked across the lawn, from the repaired screen door, and reached out to grab the shed's door, which had housed the lab.

It was dark, and he fumbled out for a light switch.

It smelled damp and heavy, and the lights flickered over the complete abandonment and emptiness. Moses looked around, expecting someone to leap from the shadows. Fear, and then longing, as he waited for something to creep forth and consume him.

There were no lab tables. No test tubes. No equipment. No coats or beakers or gloves. No Bernice. No doctor.

No sunshine.


	33. Chapter 33

He wished he'd had the strength for an angry outburst.

Staring at the Christmas tree, well into January, Moses considered tearing it down. Smashing it. Tearing through every present and slamming them into the wall.

He hadn't been able to do that though.

Carefully, he'd packed every one of them up. Setting them in one of the many vast closets. 

It had been generous, beyond generous, for Jake to allow him to stay here. Especially given all that Moses had taken from him. He placed the last of the presents in the closet, staring at them wistfully.

He considered opening the ones from Rich, but thought better of it.

Better not to think of what could have been, and instead let himself finish cleaning up.

Next, he unpacked the fridge, moldy, rotten food disposed of swiftly. There was no sense in cleaning, not really, except to be polite in case Jake stopped by for any reason. It was, after all, his house.

They hadn't even been able to have a funeral. There were no remains to-

But it was better, like the presents, not to think about that either.

Carefully, bit by bit, Moses packed up their lives. He removed the mix tapes from the car. He placed Rich's laptop and phone and clothes in neat little boxes. He found new and crueler ways in which they'd built a life together.

He thought of how Rich had planned on going back to school. How he'd regained a collection of books, as he stacked each and every one of them away, out of sight, but never out of mind.

He was cursed with a perfect memory, another bit of evidence to his own lack of any true humanity.

Moses couldn't even bring himself to lay in the bed they shared. He wasn't sure if he was more afraid of the sheets smelling of Rich, or of them smelling of nothing at all.

He deep cleaned every inch of the home, and went through the motions of paying all the bills, making sure the flowers were watered, watching every sunset that Rich would never again see.

It was the little things that made him tear up every time.

...and at the end of January, right before he was set to leave this house, he received a final present, a box poised at his door. 

To Moses.

From Rich.

In his impeccably staccato handwriting, a heart over the i.

Moses considered ignoring what clearly must have been a hallucination. But the heart captivated him. Usually Rich put x's over his i's, but he seemed determined to pour something extra here.

But it didn't make sense. How could Rich have left him a package, when-

He reached down to pick it up, only for a note to fall off the top of the box.

_'He told me to keep this safe for you. I thought it might help._

_I'm sorry.'_

The note wasn't signed, though Moses had his guesses as to who it was from. He cradled the box, deceptively light, to his chest, as he carried it inside.

He couldn't even work up the energy to get angry. He set the box onto the coffee table, regarding the ribbon, just slightly frayed. It was too neat for Rich to have wrapped it himself. So this...being...had wrapped it for him, then. 

And then he heard mewing.

Moses tugged at the ribbon. It unraveled, just as Moses' life had, and he dug his fingers carefully into the paper. He undid it, revealing the cardboard box underneath. The top was untaped, and with a sound of scraping, it abruptly popped open.

A small, orange head popped out of the box. Pointed ears perked, whiskers too long for its face wriggling about in the open room's air. Its green eyes fixed onto Moses, and it flinched away just slightly as Moses reached out. Moses paused, only for the small head to bump up with a meow to his fingers.

"Hello, little one," Moses said softly. He loosened the rest of the cardboard's lid, using his other hand to reach in, pull the kitten out. Orange, with a white underbelly and two white front paws, it was already purring as Moses settled it against his chest.

His eyes drifted to the box, and he reached inside to retrieve a white envelope. It was difficult, but not impossible, to open the envelope as he held the kitten. Moses ended up depositing the cat onto his shoulder, where it rubbed and nuzzled against his neck in a nearly ticklish motion. 

Moses slid open the envelope and pulled out the card, a jolly Santa smiling at him from the front. His fingers shook as he peeled the card open.

_Dear Moses,_

_Whoa. Talk about formal. So for our first Christmas as a couple of godless homos (or should I say sodomites, remember?), I thought I would give you an honest to god Christmas card. Pretty nifty if I do say so myself._

_Anyway, I know that you’re not supposed to give pets for Christmas, or for gifts in general, but I saw her and I couldn’t help but think she was perfect for you. You both have those big bright eyes and skittish softness. Isn’t she a doll?_

_This year has been the best one of my life, and I can’t even begin to tell you how much I love you. You’re the smartest, bravest, most beautiful person I know, Mo. I really mean that._

_Now let’s finish opening presents so we can have some of that awesome dinner you had planned, okay?_

_Love you forever,  
Rich_

_PS You can change her name, but I’ve been calling her Sunny. I just thought you could use a little sunshine in your life even when I’m away._

Moses' tears fell down his cheeks, as he set the card down. He took the cat, cradling her between both of his large hands. Hands which had been unable to protect Rich.

But he'd try his hardest to do right by her.

"Hello, Sunny," He tested the name. And then sobbed, even as a smile tugged at his lips at the way she meowed and arched up to lick his chin. 

Nothing was ever going to feel right ever again.

But maybe, just maybe, he could find some bright moments between the grim coldness of this new existence.

END PART 2


	34. Chapter 34

Part 3

34.

How could she live with herself?

Their mobile lab moved along, leaving yet another city. She glanced back as the skyline faded out of view. Where would they settle next? Somewhere in the midwest, she supposed. 

Bernice knew better than to question the doctor outside of bickering appearances before their subjects.

A raspy breath drew all eyes, as the form strapped to the table tried to force air into lungs that had been carved out a full three experiments before.

"Shut him up," Dr. Miller said, cold. She rose from her seat, as Edgar's erratic driving hit another pothole. She tripped, landing on her knees.

The doctor laughed, as she sat up. Her fingers curled into fists, but she quickly regulated herself. This was the life she'd chosen.

This was the life which had been chosen for her, the moment the doctor had consumed her capsule and made her his squip.

How could she live with herself?

The form on the table was scarred, even with the artificial skin which had replaced his charred exterior. Blue lines etched in and out of focus, his eyes fused closed, as his lips parted with the effort to try to fill his failing humanity with a breath of air.

"We've gone over this, Rich," She said softly. Her hand pressed to his shoulder, almost kindly. "You don't need to do that anymore."

"Moses-"

She winced. Just as she'd been hoping he wouldn't say. Maybe the doctor hadn't heard-

His sigh was heavy, as he pulled out his remote. He jammed a finger into one of the buttons, and Rich's body convulsed, screams trapped behind his lips as his body snapped, rigid, against the restraints.

Bernice had barely pulled her hand away in time to keep herself from receiving the same shock.

Tears began to spill from Rich's closed eyes. She twitched with the urge to wipe them.

How could she live with herself?

"Relax, Richard." The name would be stripped of him soon enough, just as his organs had been, replaced piece by piece with metallic counterpart. Just as his skin had been. Just as his memories and loves and interests and hopes and dreams would be. One by one until he was a perfect vessel. A proof of the superiority of this next stage of humanity. Man becomes machine. "You're going to make him so much stronger with your sacrifice."

And the superiority of machine becoming humanity.

Of course, none of their previous tests had worked. Stripping the host from the squip usually resulted in the squip, bodied as it may have been, to deactivate, or go rogue, or revert to cool mathematical indifference.

Why should this be any different?

How many lives did they have to destroy in the name of the doctor's twisted visions?

How could she live with herself?

It was easy, she thought with a grim smile, when you'd never been alive in the first place.

But maybe Moses was the one who'd finally prove them all wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And thus ends this fic. I decided to just mass post the rest of it in time for the holidays.   
> Thank you to everyone who has been reading and commenting. It means a lot that anyone at all followed along with this story. Any elements and characters are free use within this work if anyone actually felt the urge to do anything with them (though I'd absolutely love to see any works you might create). Thank you for all the support!


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